Overwatch: Recalled
by Darkive
Summary: With Winston's recall of Overwatch agents around the globe, a series of events is set into motion that will decide the course of the world—and its heroes—forever. Follow the journey of Overwatch's scattered agents of good, a shadowy axis of evil, and one UN official caught in the middle of it all. Rated M for violence, language and possible adult themes throughout.
1. Prologue: Death Comes

_AN: Hi all, this is my first crack at an Overwatch fic. I've loved the whole backstory of this world since the announcement trailer came out, and based on all the background info out today, I got some ideas I'm excited to share with all of you. Anyway, I hope you enjoy—look forward to reading your reviews!_

 **Prologue: Death Comes**

Far below the bustling streets of King's Row, a man dressed in black stalked through the lowest levels of the city's Omnic slums. Despite his heavy boots and the two menacing shotguns holstered loosely underneath his long black coat, he made no sound as he moved through the deserted corridors—like shadow in human form. Underneath his black hood, a mask in the likeness of a steer-skull hid his face.

The red lamps lighting the narrow metal pathway Reaper now walked down cast the world in an eerie glow and seemed to make every shadow more intense. As he came to a junction between two walkways, Reaper ducked down a narrower alley to his left. His employer had clearly chosen their meeting point with the same meticulous attention to detail that he had come to expect in their dealings—always on the outskirts of a populated area, always underground, and _always_ difficult to find.

The alleyway was darker than the walkway he had left, but in the distance Reaper could see the light of a bright green neon sign clashing unpleasantly with the surrounding red glow. This, he knew, was the sign his employer had instructed him to look for. But after only a few steps towards his destination, he froze. He wasn't alone.

The mercenary drew a shotgun from its holster with almost unnatural speed and pointed it into the blackness of a shadowy corner to his right.

"Come out," he growled in a low, guttural voice, "or die."

A long, slender leg emerged from the shadows a few seconds later, followed quickly by the rest of a beautiful woman dressed from head-to-toe in a skin-tight suit of biomesh. Her purple hair was tied into a long braid which swayed behind her as she walked, and the vicious sniper rifle she carried seemed to match its movement perfectly.

"Enchanté, mon ami." the woman purred as she approached on silent feet of her own. She regarded Reaper's outstretched shotgun as she might a dull piece of art before adding, "You're _late_."

Reaper growled again before sliding his weapons back beneath his coat.

"And you're annoyingly punctual, as usual. Let's get this done." He continued down the alley, with the woman falling in beside him.

As they approached, Reaper found the neon sign displaying some message in the Omnic language attached to a decrepit shack of a building, seemingly uninhabited. With a clawed hand, Reaper knocked on the door once, sending a metallic _clang_ reverberating through the alleyway. For a few long moments, there was nothing but the harsh neon glow and the fading echo of his knock. The woman standing beside him shrugged her shoulders.

"Perhaps no one is home?" she asked snidely. But before he could respond, Reaper heard the sound of footsteps come from the other side of the door.

The man who soon appeared in the doorway was almost comically out of place in their current setting; his dark hair and goatee were neatly trimmed, his sleek black suit freshly pressed, and the watch glimmering on his wrist looked as though it cost more than what the entirety of the Slum's inhabitants would make in a week. He regarded them both for a moment before he spoke.

"Reaper, Widowmaker. You're late."

Reaper could feel Widowmaker's smirk burning into the side of his head, but said nothing. The man stepped down from the doorway and dusted off a nearby oil barrel before sitting down.

"As both of you are no doubt aware, my employer does not respond well to failure." The man's eyes flicked towards Reaper. "Tell me—how did you and a full squadron of Talon's finest men fail to take the Overwatch member data _from a monkey_?"

Reaper felt his fists clench involuntarily.

"The monkey's presence was...unanticipated. It won't happen again."

"Correct," the faintest flicker of a smile flashed over the man's face. "It won't. This 'Winston' as he calls himself, reactivated the Overwatch Operative Communications Satellite a little over a week ago. Your colleague Sombra is using what little data we recovered from your efforts at Gibraltar to gain access to the satellite relay as we speak."

Reaper wasn't surprised—Sombra had always had more skill when it came to infiltration than himself. He'd always preferred a more…lethal approach to getting what he wanted. Next to him, Widowmaker was leaning on the long shaft of her sniper rifle.

"If ze objective is taken care of, why are we here?" she asked. "You could have just sent us a message and saved me a trip to zis…delightful place."

The man reached behind his makeshift seat and produced a small leather briefcase. From it, he pulled two holo-folders and handed one to each of them.

"My employer has instructed me that both of your services are needed elsewhere for operations of paramount importance. I think you'll both find that your assignments are complementary to your skillsets."

Widowmaker scrolled through her assignment eagerly. Soon however, she was frowning.

"A _capture_ mission?" she asked incredulously. "Of two common outlaws, no less? Zis hardly seems to suit my 'skillset'." The man smiled from his seat.

"I'm sure you'll find these 'common outlaws' to be a much more interesting assignment than you imagine—they have successfully evaded capture from the international community for almost half a year." The man's grin disappeared in an instant, replaced by an air of grave seriousness. "My employer wanted it made very clear that this target is to be delivered _unharmed_. Kill the fat one with him, if you wish, but Mr. Fawkes is to be kept alive at all costs—is that understood?"

Widowmaker slung her rifle over her shoulder once more and gave the man a swift nod.

"Oui, Monsieur." In one deft move, the marksmen threw her holo-folder high into the air, took aim, and fired four shots straight through it, raining remnants of glass and metal down a few feet away. With that, she began to stalk off the way they had come, smoke still rising from the barrel of her gun. "I'll leave you boys to it," she called over her shoulder. "Au Revoir." From an outstretched hand, a grappling cable shot in and out of sight, and in a blink, Widowmaker disappeared with it into the darkness.

The man turned his attention back towards the remaining mercenary.

"Reaper? I trust you'll be able to carry out _this_ assignment without incident?"

Reaper laughed, and the low, rasping sound rumbled like thunder through the alleyway.

"That's your employer's problem, Mr. Black—he's still learning how to run an army. If you want a information, you send the shadow…" Reaper crushed his assignment in a clawed hand, letting the destroyed device fall to the ground. "…but when you want results, you send _Death_."


	2. Chapter 1: New Orders

_AN: Hi again everyone! we're officially in it now, which is exciting! Nothing really new to share, so let's jump right in. As always, I hope you enjoy!_

 **Chapter 1: New Orders**

In one of the United Nation's brightest, most ornately decorated board rooms, Ian Grey sat witnessing history in the making. Delegates from the Chinese government were reaching across the pristine glass table to shake the hands of the Omnic representatives opposite them. After days upon days of intense negotiation, the two sides had finally established the location of China's first ever Omnium, which had come to mean 'Omnic settlement' to most, in the country. For all involved, the proceedings had been a tentative first step towards lasting peace.

Ian couldn't be more bored.

Not to say that he wasn't happy with their efforts—he had joined the United Nation's Coalition for International Peace, or the CIP for short, to help make meetings like this a reality. But when he was recruited from his position in the U.S. Military, he had expected to be out in the field, where he could actually _help_ people who needed it most. Instead, the field missions he had managed to worm out of his superiors over the past 4 years had been far and few between, with endless meetings in identical board rooms filling almost all of his time. And, as the cherry on top, only about 1 in 10 of those meetings ended with anything more productive than a plan to meet again.

From his seat at the far end of the table, he glanced over at a girl with fiery red hair taking vigorous notes on the holo-screen in front of her. Her name was Val, and she had quickly become one of Ian's closest friends in the CIP.

Unlike Ian, Val _lived_ for the slow tedium of diplomacy—and every meeting was a tantalizing new challenge for her to conquer. She had been recruited directly out of King's Row University, world-renowned for its political science and international policy programs, and at only 26 years old, she was tied with Ian for the youngest member in the program.

Ian breathed an internal sigh of relief as the delegates in the room began to rise and collect their things. After spending the first 6 hours of his day cooped up, he felt the overwhelming need to be back on his feet. He exchanged the pleasantries and quick farewells with each visitor he was expected to make before making a hasty retreat for the door.

He hadn't made it more than a few steps outside of the room before he heard a reproachful sigh from behind him.

"Did you absorb any of that, soldier boy? Or were you off saving the world in your head again?" Ian turned to greet Val with a smile.

"What? You had everything well in hand without me—I had imaginary people to save." The two began to walk down the hall at their usual brisk pace. "I honestly don't know how you manage to stay that focused for six hours straight, Val."

"I don't understand how you _can't_ stay focused," she shot back, tucking a rogue curl of red head back behind her ear. "We were a part of a monumental decision today!"

Ian rolled his eyes. "If I had a dollar for every time you've claimed we were part of a 'monumental decision,' I could've paid our way to world peace by now. Besides, to hear the news tell it, you'd think we were trying to make the world worse."

Since joining the CIP, Ian had developed a healthy aversion to the news. It seemed like every day there was a rebel group or terrorist organization making headlines for some new atrocity—but it was the near constant stream footage of everyday people and Omnics affected by it all that always made his stomach turn. It also didn't help that the UN had outfitted every free nook and cranny with a holo-vid screen, headline ticker or news radio lounge.

Val put a reassuring hand on Ian's shoulder.

"Don't let all of that get to you. We _are_ making a difference, no matter what the talking heads say." She gestured to their left with her head. "Want to grab a bite to eat? I'm starving."

Ian nodded in fierce agreement—his stomach had been growling angrily at him since the small plate of hors d'oeuvres had disappeared during their meeting.

It took them only a few minutes to navigate the sprawling compound that was the UN Headquarters and arrive at the main food court. The cavernous room was close to the center of the building, so everyone could quickly eat their meals and get back to work. The huge glass-domed ceiling made the entire food court feel bright and sunny, and befitting an international organization, food options from all over the world were available around the entire perimeter.

Like the rest of HQ, the food court was inundated with news screens, but Ian and Val had discovered a quiet table in one of its far corners that obscured their view of their daily onslaught of depressing updates. To Ian's great relief, it was unoccupied when they arrived with their food.

They chose Middle Eastern that day, and while Val daintily picked at a falafel salad, Ian was greedily shoveling forkful upon forkful of shawarma and rice into his mouth. Food always had the uncanny ability to lift his spirits, and he already found himself feeling better than he had moments ago. Val crinkled her nose in clear disapproval as she watched her friend eat.

"You can slow down, you know. I don't think your food is going anywhere." Ian looked up from his food, his cheeks bulging. he began to formulate the response, but all that came out of his mouth when he tried to speak were unintelligible sounds and the occasional grain of rice. "Finish chewing before you talk!" Val exclaimed, waving a hand at him. "Is that how they teach you to eat in the army?"

Ian chewed, swallowed, and gave her a grin.

"Of course—it's time-efficient." Val giggled.

"You're a mystery to me sometimes, soldier boy."

Despite Val's nickname for him, Ian hadn't been a traditional "soldier" in a long time. He'd worked his way through the ranks quickly and became the commander of his own platoon when he was just 23 years old. The next three years went by quickly for Ian, with missions fighting cells of the Talon terrorist organization taking him across the globe. He'd gained a reputation as an excellent field tactician with zero casualties in his unit while under his command—which had ultimately landed him on the UN's shortlist for the CIP.

 _A fat lot of good it's done me here_. Ian thought to himself as he stuffed another forkload of food into his mouth.

Val looked down at her omniwatch, it's holographic display flashing the details of her next scheduled meeting.

"It looks like we have another meeting with Volskaya Industries on the Omnic Rebellion in Russia up next—finish up and let's go! I'd hate to be late."

 _I'd love to be late._

Groaning, Ian hastily shoveled the last few bites into his mouth before rising from his seat, not the least bit excited about another stint in a conference room.

"Alright, let me just—"

Ian stopped short as his own omniwatch sprang to life with an audible _ping_. When he glanced at the message on the display, he felt his eyebrows raise in surprise.

 _::URGENT::_

 _Commander Grey,_

 _Please report to the office of Secretary General Reiker immediately for new assignment debriefing._

Val looked back at Ian, clearly anxious to be on their way. But when she saw his dumbfounded expression, she came over to inspect the message herself. When she had finished scanning the message, her expression matched Ian's.

"You're reporting to the Secretary General? Like, _the_ Secretary General?" She asked after rereading the message a second time. "What on earth for?" All Ian could do was shrug.

"I honestly have no idea...but if I'm reporting all the way to Reiker, it's got to be important." Regaining his senses, Ian tossed his plate into a nearby garbage bin, gave Val a quick goodbye, and took off towards the senior offices. "I'll come and find you after your meeting!" he called back to the redhead, leaving her looking more concerned than curious.

—

The office of the Secretary General—along with the offices of most of the UN's senior officers—were situated in the upper levels of the massive spire that lay at the center of Headquarters. Ian noticed as he came closer to the spire's entrance that the amount of security seemed to double, with armed guards soon appearing at every entryway. Ian was stopped several times by checkpoint guards to confirm his clearance, but was allowed to pass each time after showing them the message he had received. All the while, his head was swimming with possibilities.

 _Could they be reassigning me somewhere?_ He wondered to himself. He hoped not—the last thing he wanted was to replace his current schedule of meetings with another schedule of meetings in a new place. _No, they would have gone through my supervisor for that...then what?_ Ian supposed he would find out soon enough.

As he arrived at the spire's center, a particularly large security guard waved him over to a set of elevators. When he entered, he could feel the ground lurch beneath him as the elevator rose with increasing speed. In only a matter of seconds, Ian was thirty stories up, and the elevator doors opened at his destination. When he exited, he had to do his best not seem taken aback.

The elevator opened directly into the Secretary General's office, and it was enormous. A high domed ceiling similar to the food court loomed high above him, and the glass panels from the dome's top descended all the way to the floor at the far end of the room. The walls on either side of him were covered in international art, awards, maps, and more, and several inviting leather sofas circled around a meeting area in the office's center. At the far end of the room, Ian saw none other than Secretary General Reiker himself speaking with a man and woman from his desk.

The Secretary General was an older man, with fine grey hair and age lining his sharp features. A cigar sat smoking in his mouth beneath a well-trimmed mustache. He turned a pair of sharp blue eyes towards Ian as he approached.

"Ah, Sergeant Grey. Thank you for coming on such short notice." Ian stood at attention and gave his superior the customary salute.

"No trouble at all, sir. I hope I'm not interrupting anything." The man sitting in the chair opposite the Secretary General chuckled.

"Not at all, Sergeant. As always, my loquaciousness has gotten the best of me. I was so engrossed in my story to General Reiker here, I didn't notice the time fly by." Reiker cleared his throat as he rose from his desk.

"Apologies, introductions are in order. Sergeant, this is Aarav Khan, CEO of the Vishkar Corporation—and as of today, the UN's largest partner for our global urban development initiative."

Ian looked at the man in front of him with newfound awe. The Vishkar Corporation was one of the largest in the world, pioneering technology that could harness hard light to create everything from cybernetics to entire cities. In other words, they were a pretty big deal.

"It's an honor to meet you, sir." Ian said shaking Mr. Khan's hand. "The work you've been doing over at Vishkar has done a lot of good for a lot of people."

Mr. Khan gave Ian a warm smile.

"It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Sergeant Grey. We're certainly trying to do some good! It is difficult sometimes, but with Light Architects like Ms. Vaswani here, there is hope for us all."

Ian turned his gaze to the woman standing next to Mr. Khan, and the first word that came to his mind was 'elegant.' The woman was tall, dressed in a tasteful Vishkar suit with her long black hair done up neatly in a bun. Even her cybernetic left arm seemed artful against her smooth dark skin. She gave Ian a small smile.

"A pleasure, Seargent Grey." Her voice was thick with a sophisticated Indian accent in comparison to Mr. Khan's. Flustered, Ian gave her an awkward smile in return.

"My pleasure as well, Ms. Vaswani." Mr. Khan rose from his seat as well, smoothing out his suit jacket.

"I won't delay you both any longer." He gave Ian a friendly nod. "Good to meet you, Sergeant. General, we'll meet again to discuss logistics when I return from Numbani."

With Ms. Vaswani in tow, Mr. Khan strode out of the room and into the elevator. He gave Ian one final smile before the elevator doors shut.

When the two Vishkar members were gone, the Secretary General turned his attention back towards Ian, his expression noticeably more serious than it had been a moment ago.

"Sergeant Grey," he began walking over to a small stack of holo-folders on a table behind his desk. "Last week, we received some…troubling news." Ian felt his interest stir further.

"What kind of news, sir?" Reiker extinguished his cigar in a nearby ashtray.

"The kind that of news that could be something bad, or something much, much worse." He dropped a holo-folder on the desk in front of Ian, its contents flashing into existence in front of him. It only took Ian a second to recognize the location floating in front of him. He felt his heart beat a little faster.

"Watchpoint Gibraltar? The old Overwatch base?" Reiker nodded.

"About a week ago, we intercepted a signal being broadcast over the old Overwatch network. We didn't think much of it then—old, unused networks get tapped into all the time—but yesterday, we got word of _this_."

Reiker swiped the display of the holo-folder and the image of Gibraltar was replaced with a video of what looked like a rocket shooting into the sky.

"That," the General started, jabbing a finger at the video, "is footage of the Overwatch Operative Communications Satellite being launched from the Gibraltar base." He turned his stare to Ian once more. "As you know, any and all Overwatch activity was deemed to be criminal activity under the Petras Act—and if it turns out that one of our old operatives is trying to get the band back together, I want it nipped in the bud. And _quickly_."

Ian did his best to mask the excitement that was bubbling up inside him. His prayers had been answered—and in fantastic fashion. He wasn't just being assigned to a mission, he was being assigned a mission investigating an old _Overwatch_ facility. As far as he was concerned, he'd hit the proverbial jackpot.

Instead of celebrating with an embarrassing attempt at dancing as he might have with Val, Ian stood at attention, trying to look disciplined.

"Understood. What's the assignment, sir?" Reiker nodded with approval before swiping the holo-folder's display once more. This time, a list of objectives appeared on top of a detailed map of Gibraltar's base.

"You're to take a small task force to investigate the location and ascertain intel on who launched that rocket and why. I want to know if we're dealing with true-blue Overwatch operatives or just some run-of-the-mill shit starters."

"Yes sir." Ian acknowledged. "And what are my orders should we encounter agents of Overwatch?" Reiker's face darkened.

"If you do find remnants of Overwatch attempting to resume their activities…treat them like you would any other criminal. Apprehend, subdue, and imprison." With that, the Secretary General placed the holo-folder into Ian's hands. "Gather your things, Sergeant—your shipping out first thing tomorrow." He leaned in close to Ian, never breaking his stare. "This mission is strictly need-to-know, Grey. We don't need the world going crazy if a few Overwatch sympathizers are on the move again." Ian nodded.

"Of course, sir." Reiker leaned back into his chair.

"Good. Dismissed, Sergeant."

As Ian exited the Secretary General's office and made his way back to his sleeping quarters, he found himself conflicted between excitement and apprehension. _Investigating an Overwatch base and a little action with Talon would be the perfect situation._ He mused to himself. _But what if Overwatch_ _is_ _there?_

That idea made his stomach turn. Not necessarily from fear, but from the prospect that Ian Grey might soon be fighting with some of the world's most legendary heroes—the very same heroes that had inspired him as a kid to join the army in the first place.

Still, he was a soldier, first and foremost—and orders were orders.


	3. Interlude: House Call

_AN: Hey everybody! We're back with our first Interlude (fancy gasp!) Since the Overwatch cast is so large, and (for now) are scattered to the winds, I decided that writing a few in-between chapters occasionally that follow a far-flung character would be a fun way to expand the main story._

 _Anyway, let's get started, and thanks for reading/reviewing!_

 **Interlude: House Call**

Dr. Angela Zeigler looked around her small makeshift hospital, wiped the sweat from her brow, and smiled.

It wasn't often that a single doctor got to save the lives of 60 people at once, after all.

For the past 8 months, she had found a place in the heart of the Middle East and set herself to the task of aiding every innocent life that arrived on her doorstep in Baghdad. After a makeshift bomb had gone off in the middle of one of the city's crowded bazaars earlier that day, dozens of people had been caught in the blast—Angela had managed to save almost all of them. It was the kind of day that filled her with the sense of purpose she'd been chasing all this time.

After one final round of checks on her remaining patients, Dr. Zeigler ducked behind a thick canvas curtain into her living quarters. It was a modest space, with a simple cot for her to sleep in, a small desk, and a counter—both of which were covered with newspapers, medical journals and other odds and ends. Angela scanned the room and sighed.

 _I really should find the time to clean this place up—my clinic looks pristine compared to this._ She thought. As she finished taking stock of her room, her eyes came to rest on a steel box in the corner, locked and covered in dust. Still, Angela could still make out the name engraved on its lid. _Valkyrie, my old suit._ She mused, a small smile coming to her lips. _How many years has it been since I've seen it last?_ She shook the thought vigorously from her mind as quickly as it had come. _No one's seen that suit in a long time, and with good reason. That time in my life is over._

When Overwatch was disbanded, Angela was one of those hit hardest. On top of those whom she had called her closest friends that she hadn't been able to save in the team's disastrous final conflict—she had been singled out by the UN to be the spokesperson for the organization during its military trial. She had been hammered with questions, accusations, and criticism of her accomplishments in Overwatch until she began to question them herself. That had been the day she stored her suit in that box, and there it had stayed since.

Angela peeled off her soiled medical scrubs and tossed them into a hamper by her cot. She relished the momentary freedom from the thick, stifling fabric and the sensation of fresh air on her skin before dawning the modest grey robe, or _jilbab_ , and headscarf that were customary for women in the area. Despite her best efforts to remain unobtrusive in the city, her pale complexion and light blonde hair turned heads and left a wave of murmurs in her wake more often than not.

Just as she was entertaining the idea of climbing into her cot for a well-deserved cat-nap, she heard the sound of tiny footsteps and a high voice shouting " _Tabib almalak! Tabib almalak!_ " She smiled in spite of herself—she knew that voice well. When she drew back the curtain and stepped back into her clinic, a small, scruffy boy with bare feet and an ill-fitting T-shirt was staring up at her, clutching a plastic bag closely to his chest.

"Hello there, Amid," she greeted warmly. "What brings you all the way across town today?" Amid held out the plastic bag, beaming.

"Papa said that I should bring you some food to thank you for today!" Angela graciously took the bag from him—the smell of spices and freshly cooked goat wafting up from inside.

"That was very kind of him, be sure to thank him for me." She said, ruffling the boy's hair with her free hand. "How is your papa doing, by the way?"

"He's feeling much better; he's even started working again!" Amid exclaimed. "All because of you, _Tabib almalak_."

Angela found Amid's nickname for her a bit embarrassing, as it literally translated to 'Doctor Angel,' but she didn't have the heart to tell him so. So Doctor Angel she had become, though most of the others she helped simply called her Doctor.

Seemingly just becoming aware of the dozens of makeshift beds that surrounded them, Amid looked up at Angela and asked,

"Did you save all of those people today by yourself?"

"As many as I could. Which, thankfully, was most of them." Amid stared at her with admiration painted on his every feature.

" _Wow._ Someday, I want to be an angel and help people just like you, _Tabib_." That made her laugh.

"Well, I don't know about an _angel_ , but I can certainly see about teaching you something of medicine—if your papa approves, or course." Amid practically vibrated with excitement.

"Really?! I'll go ask Papa now! I'll be back with more food too. Thank you _Tabib almalak_!"

Angela waved to him smiling as the boy sped back out her door as fast as his skinny legs would allow. Ever since she had helped his father recover from serious injuries he'd gotten for speaking out against the local group of thugs that plagued Baghdad of late, Amid had showed up in her clinic every day.

 _Who knows, maybe he'll become the next doctor to care for this place._ That thought gave her comfort as she disappeared once more into her room.

Angela was pleased to find that the roasted goat Amid had brought were was fresh, hot and delicious—so much so that she found herself wishing she had saved some for later. But as she reclined in the lone chair at her table, she couldn't regret the satisfaction that came with a full stomach. All in all, the day had been a good one, and she let herself revel in the feeling that everything was alright.

 _Well, almost everything_.

In the chaos and flurry of activity that had taken place after the bombing, she had almost forgotten about it—but now that she was alone, it had floated back to the top of her mind. Angela shifted several books and papers on the table in front of her to reveal a small device with the instantly-recognizable symbol of Overwatch flashing on its surface.

It was her old Overwatch communicator; and after years of having it strapped at her hip, she knew that flashing insignia could mean only one thing.

 _Someone's recalling Overwatch_. Angela thought, biting her lip. _Winston, if I had to guess—but why?_ For a brief moment, her hand hovered over the communicator. All she had to do was pick it up and respond to the call to be connected to the signal origin… _No. My place is here now—all that waits for me on the other end of that call are ruins and ghosts._

She retracted her hand and covered the device once more with clutter. Part of her, a bigger part than she cared to admit, longed for the days when she would ride into the most embattled, most hopeless places on the planet and raise the people up from oppression, disaster and disease. But those days were over—the world had deemed them unfit to save them, and like the rest of her teammates, had learned to move on and find purpose elsewhere.

 _I'm sorry, Winston,_ she thought sadly. _But there's simply nothing to recall._

Just then, the sound of footsteps entering the clinic jolted her from her thoughts. It was late, but late-night visitors looking for help weren't uncommon here.

 _Hopefully its some family looking to take one of my patients back home._ She rose, smoothed out her _jilbab_ , and entered the clinic. When she saw who had entered, her face darkened.

Four men had entered, each larger and more grisly than the last. All had rough black beards covering their faces, but the man that lead the group had one that grew down to the center of his chest. His beady, close-set eyes worked their way up and down her body as she entered, and a poisonous smile spread across his face.

" _Tabib_ , always a pleasure to see you again." He said in a low, guttural voice.

Angela glared dangerously at him, her eyes never leaving his.

"I told you and your men that you're not welcome here, Kazim."

Kazim and his men laughed at that.

"But _Talib_ , we only come to make sure that you are safe—anything could happen to a weak woman living all alone at night." He cooed in mock concern.

"Especially a woman with such a shameful body." Said another man lecherously from behind him.

"I assure you, I am more than capable of handling any _trash_ that attempts to cause trouble in my clinic. Now, get out—I have patients to attend to."

Kazim's smile only grew wider, exposing more yellow, crooked teeth.

"But that is the second reason for our visit, _Tabib_. You see, the soldiers in our glorious war against the infidels are being injured more every day—and since you've denied every invitation we send to visit our soldiers and treat them yourself—we've decided that some of your biotic technology will be a fair alternative."

Angela felt her anger flash red-hot inside of her. Her biotic technology was her greatest tool of medicine; but in the wrong hands, it could be used not only to heal, but to harm countless people.

"If you think you can come in here and take what you're looking for, you will be disappointed to find that are not up to the task." Kazim shook his head.

"Take? No, _Tabib_. We were confident you would give us your beautiful research, for the sake of our men's lives."

"The lives of those who prey on others are no concern of mine," she spat back. "Live or die, your mens' fates will be decided without me."

Kazim's smile curdled on his lips, leaving a sneer in its place.

"That is unfortunate to hear—but not unexpected. Fortunately, we have something that might change your mind." Kazim raised his hand, and one of his men exited the clinic only to return seconds later holding a small, bloodied and beaten body by the collar of an oversized shirt. When then man let the body fall roughly to the ground in front of her, Angela felt her blood turn to ice.

" _Amid_!" she all but screamed, rushing to the boy's side. He was alive, but his features were almost indistinguishable from the swelling and cuts that covered his head. His small, short breaths were ragged and irregular.

"Without our soldiers to protect these streets, terrible things can happen, _Tabib_. We found this boy beaten only steps away from your clinic—he visits you often, does he not?"

Tears threatened to sting Angela's eyes as she sat cradling Amid's head in her arms. She looked up at the men smiling down at her with as much malice as she could summon.

"You will _PAY_ for this, _Arschloch_!" she swore in her native tongue. "I swear it!"

"No, I think not." Said Kazim dismissively. "However, if you do not reconsider our offer, I fear that others may pay dearly for it. Say, your patients here?" The man raised his hand again and his men turned to leave. "We will give you the night to reconsider. See you in the morning, _Tabib."_

Angela watched the men until they were completely out of sight, then jumped into action. she gently lifted Amid's weak body onto the nearest unused cot, then rushed to collect her medical tools. She was back in an instant, her hands moving deftly between her equipment and her patient. She applied a biotic gel of her own design to reduce the swelling on the boy's face, and in seconds, Amid's welts seemed to deflate, bringing his face back towards recognition. Never hesitating, Angela began to feel lightly across the boy's body for signs of broken bones or internal bleeding. She grimaced when her hands reached his abdomen.

 _Broken ribs,_ she concluded immediately. _At least two on the right side._

She reached for a device that resembled a gun and held it over Amid's torso.

"Amid, I need you to be strong for me, okay?" she whispered calmly into his ear. "There will be a second of pain, but it will be over soon, I promise." The boy nodded his head weakly.

Angela squeezed the trigger of her biotic tractor. Another device she had developed during her time in Overwatch, the biotic tractor allowed her to hone in on any type of bone or tissue in the body and move it without having to actually cut into the patient. Still, no matter how non-invasive the process was, setting bones was never a pleasant experience. Amid let out a long painful groan as his ribs were forced back into place. Once that was done, Angela bound his chest tightly with medical gauze to ensure that her work stayed in place.

"You did wonderfully, Amid. We're almost done, I promise." The last major hurdle to cross was stitching the deep gashes left on the boy's face. For this, Angela had no choice but to use a traditional suture. It was slow and painful work, but with each stitch she saw the flow of blood ebb and finally stop. It took 28 stitches in all to patch Amid's face, but he had endured them all with more bravery than she'd seen in some soldiers in her years on the field.

Finally, Angela rose and crossed the clinic to snatch a long white staff from its place propped against the wall. More than any of the other tools in her arsenal, her Caduceus Staff was an extension of herself. It had been with her on countless missions, and had saved more lives than she could count. She pointed it's tip directly at Amid and released the glowing yellow beam of biotic energy. As the light washed over him, Amid's body seemed to pulse. With every pulse, his cuts seemed to close a little more, his bruises seemed to shrink, and his breathing became a little more stable.

In a few long minutes, it was done. Amid was clearly still weak, but he looked a great deal more like himself than he had when Kazim's men had left him there. Exhaling a long, ragged breath of her own, Dr. Angela Zeigler sunk into the empty cot across from her patient, resting her staff across her lap.

 _It never gets easier working on the ones you've come to love._

As she watched the boy drift between sleep and fleeting moments awake, she looked around the rest of her clinic. There were seven other patients still in her care—all stable, but certainly unable to defend themselves should Kazim and his men seek to harm them. Her grip tightened around her staff.

 _It's not fair_ , she fumed to herself. _After all the good that was done today, how can one man undo it all? Where is the justice in that?_ She glanced sadly at Amid. _Where is the justice in_ _that_ _?_ She was a doctor, sworn to protect and preserve life whenever possible—but what about when simply healing the injured wasn't enough to protect them?

" _Tabib_ … _almalak"_ Angela looked up to see Amid's exhausted eyes staring up at her. "I'm thirsty." It was nice to hear his voice, even strained and small as it was.

"Of course, Amid. I'll get something to drink for you." She ran a hand gently through his hair. "You were very brave today." He said nothing, but Angela could still see the small smile on his face. "Is water alright?" he nodded from his cot. Angela rose once more and entered her room. She picked up an unused cup from her table, cleaned it thoroughly with the sleeve of her _jilbab_ , then filled it from the water jug she kept on her counter. As she turned to return to Amid, something stopped her. From underneath the clutter of her table, she could see the flashing light coming from her Overwatch Communicator.

 _Where is the justice in that?_ The thought echoed through her mind. She quickly regained herself and returned to Amid. After she had let him drink his fill, he seemed to come alive a little more.

"Better?" she asked.

"Better." He replied softly. They sat in silence for what seemed like a long time before Amid spoke again. "Is Kazim going to come back?" he asked, fear clear in his tone. Angela's face hardened.

"I think so, yes. He wants the medicine I used to help you." Amid shifted uncomfortably in his cot.

"But you won't let him, right _Tabib_?" Angela stared at the boy for a long time. Past the pain and fear, she could see the flicker of faith in his eyes.

 _Faith in me._

"No," she answered finally, giving him a faint smile. "I won't. But to make sure he doesn't, I need some help from my doctor-in-training. Can you walk?" Despite his injuries, Amid lit up, looking almost like he had that afternoon.

"I think so, _Tabib almalak._ " He answered with a sense of growing confidence. "What do you need me to do?"

"I need you to take a message to your papa. Ask him to bring as many men as he can—we need to move our patients out of here. I don't want them harmed by accident tomorrow." Concern flashed across the young boy's face.

"What's going to happen tomorrow, _Tabib almalak_?"

"If Kazim is wise, mercy. And if he is not—" She picked up her staff from the ground beside her and stood tall. "Justice."

/

The rest of the night had passed quickly, and Angela had barely an hour to sleep. But Amid's father and a handful of others had been able to do what she asked, and her clinic now stood empty except for her. She sat patiently in a chair facing the door, her staff resting across her lap. She had forgone her headscarf today, and her blonde hair was tied back in a high ponytail. Her grey _jil_ bab fluttered softly from a breeze outside.

The doctor's usually warm demeanor had been replaced with a stern determination—and that determination did not falter when Kazim finally appeared at her door with his four men. He wore a black shirt and Kevlar vest, camo pants and boots, and had what appeared to be a fearsomely sharp scimitar strapped to his hip. The tall man looked around the empty room and sneered.

"Where have your patients gone, _Tabib_? I was hoping they would be here to witness your generosity." Angela's blue eyes flashed dangerously.

"They are gone—out of harm's way." She rose from her seat, staff in hand. "As is all of my technology." Anger overtook Kazim's features. He took a step toward her.

"That was a foolish thing to do, woman." He took another step. "Without your tools, you leave us no choice but to take you with us." He gave her a dark smile. "And unfortunately for you—all of our soldiers are not so respectful as Kazim." He reached out to grab hold of her arm. "Now come quietly if you don't want—" Kazim was cut off as the butt of Angela's staff made contact with the bridge of his nose, knocking him backward and off his feet. It had happened so quickly that for a split second, no one in the empty clinic moved. Then Kazim, roared in anger as he clutched his now profusely bleeding nose. " _Take that bitch_ _NOW_!"

All at once, Kazim's four cronies advanced on her, shouting curses in Arabic. But where they were large, she was quick and precise—and she had faced odds like these before. The first man to reach her threw a clumsy punch at her torso. She spun past his fist with ease and swept his legs out from under him with a swipe of her staff. With the same precision she used during medical operations, she swept her staff up once more to catch the second man in the throat, sending him sprawling backwards.

The final two men seemed smarter than the first two and converged on her together. One had slipped past her in the chaos of activity and snaked a thick arm around her neck. The smell of his sweat was stifling. The other man advanced on her from the front, his hands outstretched to take her staff. Angela grabbed the arm around her neck with her free hand, kicked her legs into the air, and drove her heel hard into the man's gut. When he doubled over, her second foot landed solidly into his temple and he crumpled to the floor unconscious.

Before the man behind her had time to react, Angela drove her elbow hard into his side. He loosened his grip just slightly, but it was enough for her to slip out of his hold and land a savage upward slice with her staff to his chin. She jumped gracefully away from the pile of unconscious or writhing men on the ground breathing heavily. She planted her staff into the ground with finality.

" _That_ was a foolish thing to do, Kazim."

"Wow." she whirled around to see Amid standing in her doorway, a small home-made crutch under his arm to support some of his weight.

" _Amid_ ," she said reproachfully. "I told you to stay home, this is no place for you." Underneath the bandages on his face, she could see the contemptuous look he was giving him.

"But I'm your doctor-in-training, remember? I should be here to help you." Angela rubbed her temples impatiently.

"You're still recovering, Amid! I don't need you getting caught up in something that's going to make your injuries more severe, or worse—"

" _LOOK OUT_!" Amid shouted, his eyes suddenly wide. Angela Zeigler turned around just in time to see a bloody and furious Kazim lunge forward with his scimitar in hand. She didn't have time to spin away, or to deflect the blade, and it she watched as its menacing point pierced the soft fabric of her _jilbab_.

But instead of the sounds of screams and the sight of blood, the blade stopped suddenly with an audible _clink_. Confusion momentarily replaced rage on Kazim's bloody face.

"What is this? Why won't you die, you bitch!" Angela sent a piercing stare into Kazim's eyes—then her _jilbab_ burst into shreds as two magnificent metallic wings erupted from her back. Kazim staggered backwards in surprise, his scimitar clattering to the ground. "What, how—"

Dr. Angela Zeigler loomed over him, staff in hand and shreds of her outer clothing still clinging to the Valkyrie armor she had hidden beneath it. She placed a boot on Kazim's chest to pin him in place.

"Heroes never die, you son of a bitch." She said before slamming her staff into his head, knocking him out cold. She turned back to Amid to find him staring at her in complete awe.

"You really _are_ an angel." He breathed. Angela reached for her halo headpiece she had hidden by the doorway and fastened it to the rest of her armor. She gave him a smile.

"I'm still just a doctor, Amid. But people need more than medicine right now, I think." She knelt down and kissed the boy's forehead, and his face immediately turned a deep shade of red. "I have to go somewhere, and I can't say how long I'll be gone, but will you promise to help people while I'm gone?" Amid nodded wordlessly. "Good. I'm leaving all of my books and equipment to you, my little doctor-in-training. Use them only to help people, and don't let people like this find out you have it, do you understand?" He nodded again.

"I understand, _Tabib almalak."_ Satisfied, she rose and ruffled Amid's hair one last time.

"Good boy. I'll miss you, but be good while I'm gone—and take care of your papa!" gathering up her meager travel supplies, she made her way towards the door. Amid hesitated behind for a moment, then called after her.

" _Tabib almalak,_ wait! Where are you going?"

Angela stopped one last time, her hand moving unconsciously to the no longer flashing communicator strapped to her waist. After a brief pause, she looked back at her little apprentice and grinned.

"I'm making house call."


	4. Chapter 2: Gibraltar

_EDIT:_ _Sorry for the wait, everybody, but I just kept rereading this chapter and feeling like it wasn't quite where I wanted it to be. I made some pretty significant changes though, and it's reading a lot more like I wanted it to (at about twice its original length, too boot). Hopefully you all like it too! Thanks for the patience :P._

 _AN: Hello again, everybody! We're getting into the good stuff now—so expect to start seeing a lot of familiar faces in the near future. I've loved reading your reviews so far—keep em' coming!_

 _Anyway, let's get started..._

 **Chapter 2: Gibraltar**

Ian watched the ocean speed past several thousand feet below him from a window of the MV-261 Orca that carried him and his four-man team. The massive hovership had been the product of advanced propulsion research carried out by Overwatch years ago, which Ian found oddly fitting considering their destination.

He ran a hand through his short, unkempt brown hair as he turned his attention back towards the squadron of seasoned soldiers the CIP had assigned to his command. They had shipped out from the UN Headquarters in New York before the sun had come up that morning, and after nearly 10 hours of travel, their restlessness was beginning to show.

From the long table in the corner of the main cabin, a burly man named Briggs threw down the hand of cards he'd been holding.

"What's our ETA, Sergeant? I'm ready to see some action." Across from him, a woman with jet-black hair tied into a tight bun collected a small pile of money from the table.

"More like you're ready to stop getting your ass kicked in poker." Jones, a short, barrel-chested veteran chortled from behind his own hand of cards.

Jones, Ian had learned, wasn't much for talking, so grunts and chuckles made up the majority of his conversations. Briggs glared at the woman now counting her winnings.

"Shut your mouth, Martinez." Briggs growled. "It's beginners luck—I'll win it all back on the flight home." Martinez raised an eyebrow.

"Sure, Briggs. And I'll bring down fifty Overwatch agents with my bare hands."

Ian strode over to the table and produced a small holo-map from the pocket of his combat jacket.

"You'd be lucky to take down one Overwatch Agent fully armed, Martinez." When Briggs started to laugh, Ian grinned. "And you'd be _really_ lucky, Briggs."

His tone became more business-like as he tossed the holo-map onto the table, causing a hologram of a sprawling compound to flash into existence.

"Listen up. This is Watchpoint Gibraltar. Back in its day, it used to be one of the most prominent Overwatch strongholds in the world." With a swipe of his hand, the hologram displayed markers over several points of interest. "We're going to be walking into a lot of unknowns here: we don't know if these people are ex-Overwatch or not, we don't know how many of them there are, we don't know if they've managed to turn back on the base's defenses—we don't even know if they're hostile or not…" He smiled sheepishly before adding, "I realize that's not a lot to go on."

The team's sharpshooter, a tall, slender soldier named Roxbern, raised his eyebrows.

"That's nothing to go on, Sergeant." Jones grunted in agreement.

Ian gave shot both Roxbern and Jones a look before turning his attention back to the map.

"What we _do_ know is that someone fired an old Overwatch satellite from this control center." He circled one of the marked buildings with his finger, creating a red ring around it on the hologram. On the other side of the compound, Ian drew another circle in a patch of forest just outside of the perimeter gate. "We'll be dropping in here to try and avoid detection, entering through the perimeter fence, and making our way to the control center from there."

Just then, a red light began to flash at the head of the cabin. Seconds later, the pilot's voice came crackling over the ship's intercom.

"Approaching the drop zone, Sergeant. Prepare to dive."

Briggs was on his feet almost instantly, slinging a rifle over his shoulder.

"About damn time!" Ian picked up the holo-map and tucked it into his jacket.

"You heard the man—grab your gear and get ready!"

From behind him, that was the sound of hydraulics working and a rush of cold air as the jump doors opened. Ian grabbed one of the parachutes hanging on the wall and slipped it onto his back before placing two pistols into holsters at his waist. Walking over to the jump door, he braced himself on a grab bar and looked out at the open sky beneath him.

"Aim for the clearing in the woods when you jump," He called back to his team. "I'll see you down there."

With that, Ian leaned forward, let go of the grab bar, and felt the ground disappear from beneath him.

God he'd missed this.

/

Air whistled past Ian's face as he plummeted towards the rocky cliffs of Gibraltar. The wind was so fast that he had to breathe through his nose, and clouds appeared and disappeared around him in a flicker as the coastline rushed to meet him below—but Ian felt like he was flying.

 _Val's crazy,_ he mused. _This beats sitting through politics any day_. Despite the obvious dangers, Ian had missed the field desperately. He craved the exhilaration he felt in action, the challenge of outthinking and outmaneuvering your enemy, and most importantly, the immense feeling of satisfaction that came with a successful mission.

 _And to think, my first mission in ages is to investigate an Overwatch research facility—that's one hell of a 'welcome back'._

On their long flight over, Ian had committed the facility's map to memory, taking special note of any locations or vantage points that might pose a threat should enemies be lurking there. He'd also given into temptation and pulled up the CIP's information on known Overwatch agents. There was no guarantee Overwatch would be the ones behind the satellite launch on Gibraltar—Ian certainly knew his team would be safer if they weren't—but he couldn't help imagining the thrill of coming face-to-face with some of the world's most feared fighters.

Ian waited until the very last minute to pull his chute, guaranteeing that he would be vulnerable in the air for the shortest amount of time. By then, he could clearly make out the compact, overgrown facility perched at the edge of one of the peninsula's rocky crags.

He skillfully maneuvered his parachute towards the grassy clearing nestled within the trees outside of the Watchpoint's perimeter. In seconds, Ian touched back down onto solid ground, running as he landed to slow his momentum before finally coming to a stop at the far end of the clearing. After quickly gathering up his chute and hiding it in the nearby brush, Ian nodded in approval.

"Nailed it."

"Really, Sergeant? _Nailed it?_ " Ian stiffened as Martinez landed soundlessly next to him.

"I… Wish you hadn't heard that."

Ian almost jumped when his comm unit crackled to life in his ear.

"Oh, your comm was on, Sarge. _Everybody_ heard it." Briggs added smugly.

Ian turned around to see him and the others floating towards the clearing and fought to keep the red from his face.

"Perfect."

It took only minutes for the team to land, store their shoots, and prepare their gear. All in all, Ian was impressed.

 _General Reiker_ _did_ _say he was putting together an elite task force._ His brow furrowed. _Now let's just hope I don't have to use them._

Slinging his own rifle over his shoulder, Ian turned to address his waiting team.

"Alright team, the Watchpoint's perimeter fence is only a few dozen yards that way," he jabbed his thumb towards the forest behind him. "Our reports show that a section of it has fallen into disrepair since the base was shut down—that's our way in. Keep your comms on, and remember," he shot Briggs a stern look. " _Do not_ engage unless you are engaged first, understand?"

When his team acknowledged his orders, he gave them a grin.

"Then let's get in there."

The short trek through the dense thicket of trees was thankfully uneventful, save for a tense moment when Briggs swore he heard something big rustling above them.

"It's that giant ape from Overwatch!" He whispered through clenched teeth, pointing his gun into the trees. "He could rip us in half."

When a macaque no bigger than a housecat stopped on a low-hanging tree branch to nibble on a piece of fruit, Martinez snorted with laughter.

"You were half right Briggs, it _was_ a monkey. But I don't remember the holo-folders saying Winston was so small."

Briggs grumbled until they reached the 15-foot chain-link fence that stood at the Watchpoint's borders. Ian was momentarily discouraged when he saw the fence in good condition, complete with menacing barbed wire at its top, but was relieved when he saw the massive tree that had fallen straight through the barrier only a few hundred feet to their right. He motioned towards it with two fingers.

"There's our ticket in. Let's move."

They advanced on the tree quickly. After testing it's sturdiness with a few kicks to its base, One team climbed one-by-one onto the fallen trunk and carefully made their way towards the breach. Leading the procession, Ian slowed to a stop at the point where several jagged parts of the fence jutted out from either side of them. Prying a piece of bark off of the tree, he tossed it towards the fence. He frowned when the fence buzzed angrily back at him.

"Careful," he called back. "Looks like the fence is still electrified." His frown deepend.

 _And if the Watchpoint's power is back on, that definitely means someone's still here._

Ian turned sideways to create as much space between him and the electrified fencing as possible as he slowly continued up the trunk. From behind him, Roxbern sniggered.

"Better try and suck it in Martinez, or those tits of yours are gonna get you fried."

Ian heard a _thud_ , followed by the sounds of wheezing.

"Talk about my 'tits' again, and I'll throw you into this fence myself."

"Just…a…joke." Roxbern wheezed as he labored to catch his breath.

"Knock it off!" Ian hissed back at them. "This is no time to be—"

 _CRACK_.

 _Oh no._

Ian had only seconds to react as the trunk snapped under their weight at the fence line. Diving clear of the fence and falling wood, he landed hard on the ground. groaning, Ian slowly rose to his feet.

When he turned to check on the rest of his team, he was relieved to find them all relatively unscathed. He was less than relieved, however, to find them all still on the wrong side of the fence.

Ian collected his equipment that he'd dropped during his fall and walked over to the fence.

"Is everyone okay?"

Jones grunted, holding his shoulder. Martinez looked over the older soldier briefly before taking his arm and jerking it abruptly upwards. There was an audible _pop_ , another grunt from Jones, and a sigh of relief.

"I'd say aside from Jones dislocating a shoulder, we're all okay Sergeant."

"The hell we are!" Briggs fumed, swatting dirt and splinters off of his gear. "We just lost our entry point, and we're split up in hostile territory."

"Calm down, soldier." Ian's tone was firm, but not unkind. "We're CIP Special Ops, improvising is part of the job. We just have to change our tactics a bit…"

Ian scanned his surroundings, taking note of the buildings, trees, perimeter, and anything else that might offer a solution. His eyes came to rest on a particularly tall tree that loomed just a beyond the perimeter.

"Alright, here's what we're going to do; Roxbern, you're going to get to the top of that tree and get a better look of the Watchpoint and the perimeter."

Roxbern nodded attentively.

"Good. Martinez, Briggs, I want you to check the perimeter for any length of fence that isn't connected to the power grid. Then worst case we can cut our way in." The two soldiers nodded in unison.

Ian turned his attention towards their final squad mate.

"Jones, are you up for a job?" Jones grunted, and gave Ian a thumbs up. Ian couldn't help but smile at that. "Great. I want you to head back to our landing site and get our parachutes. We might be able to tie them together and use them to get over this fence from Roxbern's tree."

When Jones gave him a brisk salute, Ian nodded in approval.

"Perfect. I'm going to scout out ahead, Keep your comms on and I'll keep you updated on anything I find."

"Sarge, you're just going to walk into an Overwatch base alone?" Martinez objected. "That's nuts." Ian grinned.

"All the more reason for you guys to hurry your asses up and get in there with me. Now get moving!"

Ian could tell the team was uneasy with him going on alone as they reluctantly dispersed from the fence, but all Ian felt was excitement buzzing in the back of his head.

 _Now_ , he mused to himself. _Let's see what we can find._

/

Ian carefully made his way inwards, keeping his back to the wall whenever possible. From what he could remember from the Watchpoint's layout, they had made their entrance near the southern end of the compound. That meant that he only had to travel a short distance north to

reach the estimated launch site of the satellite.

Sure enough, Ian rounded the corner of the warehouse he'd been using for cover and looked up, grinning.

 _Bingo._

Despite the clear toll nature had taken on it in Overwatch's absence, Ian identified the structure in front of him as a launching station almost immediately. The tall, steel launch frame was covered in rust and overgrown with ivy in places, and several of its arms that would have held a rocket in place were clearly missing. Ian knelt down to examine the soot and clear signs of singed greenery that surrounded the station's base.

"I found the docking station," he reported into his comm unit. "Someone definitely launched a rocket from here recently."

"Great, but where are 'they' now?" Martinez's voice crackled through his earpiece.

Ian looked around at the base's other compounds jutting upwards in the distance. As his gaze drifted downward, his eyes fixed on a set of fresh tire tracks leading away from the site.

"That's exactly what we're going to find out." Ian unslung his rifle and turned off the safety with a _click._ He didn't know who or what he would find on the other end of the tracks, but he knew he'd feel a lot better with something to defend himself handy.

As he followed the tracks, Ian noticed his surroundings become less and less dilapidated. In some places, he even noticed efforts someone had made to clear away some of the encroaching greenery. It gave him an uneasy feeling.

 _I don't see your run-of-the-mill terrorists going through the trouble of fixing this place up…_

"Stay sharp, everyone." Ian noticed his voice was quieter now when he spoke. "It's looking more and more likely we're dealing with Overwatch here."

"Shit…" Martinez swore on the other side of the comm.

"Don't worry, Sergeant." Roxbern added, "I've got you in my scope. Anybody who tries to sneak up on you won't live long enough to regret it."

"Thanks—just make sure you don't shoot unless it's absolutely necessary. I don't want a fight if we can avoid one."

Ian grimaced as he continued on his way. He'd wanted to see some action—he couldn't deny that—but a skirmish with some criminals and a full-blown fight for his life against ex-Overwatch agents were two different things entirely.

 _I don't stand a chance in a fair fight against Overwatch alone, even with Roxbern covering me._ He thought, scanning the rooflines of the surrounding warehouses. _My best bet would be to try and lure them into a position where I have the upper hand._

He thought back to his team waiting at the perimeter.

 _If it comes to it, I can try and lead any hostiles back to our entry point and try to flank them…_

He passed a massive mounted turret which, thankfully, didn't react to his movement. He felt himself shudder.

… _provided I don't get freaking murdered before that._

It wasn't long until Ian's trek deeper into the Watchpoint's sprawling grounds slowed to a standstill. A few yards down the dirt-covered roadway, the tire tracks he'd been following veered to the left and disappeared through the doorway of a massive warehouse. All at once, Ian's excitement, apprehension, and fear came rushing back to the forefront of his mind in a strange emotional cocktail. He took a deep breath to settle himself.

 _Here goes nothing._

Ian closed the distance between himself and the entrance as quickly and quietly before making himself flat against the aluminum wall of the steel warehouse. Exposing as little of himself as he possibly could, he leaned towards the entrance and peered inside.

For all of the buildup, Ian felt like the warehouse interior was a bit anticlimactic.

Near the center of the dimly-lit, cavernous space was a rusted truck with a long, narrow flatbed. Judging by the muddy tracks trailing behind it, Ian guessed that this was his rocket-carrying culprit. To its left, the warehouse looked to be filled with similar trucks, stacks of steel girders and the occasional pile of scrap. The right of the truck seemed more promising, with a small workstation set up against the far wall next to a line of lockers. The only thing that seemed to be missing was any sign of the truck's driver.

Ian cautiously entered the warehouse and meticulously checked every corner of the space before he slung his rifle back over his shoulder. Letting the tension in his muscles relax, he began to inspect the truck.

"I found the truck used to launch the rocket, but no sign of the driver." Ian reported over his comm. "Any signs of life outside, Roxbern?"

Static was his only response. When he tried his message again with no success, he sighed in exhasperation.

 _Damn warehouse must be blocking our signal. I'll try again when I'm back outside._

Ian resumed his inspection of the truck to find nothing of value. His most promising lead was the half-eaten energy bar sitting on the front console, which judging by its lack of mold seemed relatively fresh.

 _If only I had a lab full of DNA testing equiptment_ , he thought wryly. _Then I might actually have something to go on._

His attention turned once more to the workstation to his right. With no other leads, it was his most promising option left in the dingy warehouse.

As he approached the workspace, a lone computer console sitting among the piles of old documents and rusted tools caught his eye. The odds of the old machine containing anything useful—let alone working—were slim, so when Ian brushed the thin layer of dust off the keyboard only to see the screen flash to life, he couldn't help the grin that came to his face.

"Now we're talking. Let's see what you can tell me…"

"Vocal recognition failed—please identify your Overwatch credentials." Ian jumped at the new voice, his hands grabbing wildly for his gun. After a few tense seconds, his gaze came back to the computer screen, which now displayed a glowing blue 'A'. He let out a deep sigh of relief.

"Jesus," he breathed. "You scared the shit out of me." He said to the computer.

"Error, user 'Jesus' not found in Overwatch directory." The computer chirped back in an elegant feminine voice. "Final attempt—please manually input agent username."

 _Shit._ Ian kicked himself mentally and leaned over the computer console. He hovered his hands over the keys. _What should I type? An Overwatch user most likely means a codename…_ He began to type in the first agent name he could think of.

T-R-A-C-E-R.

Ian pressed the enter key. There was a tense pause as the computer whirred and worked, until finally, the display sprang to life.

"Welcome, Lena Oxton." Ian heaved a sigh of relief.

"Thank god." It became quickly apparent that Ian had begun to celebrate too soon when he felt something hard press into the small of his back.

"Don't you know it's rude to go through a lady's things, love?" Ian tensed as the voice of a woman—most certainly from England judging by her strong cockney accent—came from directly behind him. He raised his hands as slowly and deliberately as possible.

 _How the hell did she sneak up on me?_

"Hold on," he said slowly. "I don't mean any harm." He grimaced as the woman pressed harder into his back.

"I can tell, what with your _assault rifle_ and all." In a blink, Ian felt the weight of his gun disappear off of his back, almost as though it had disappeared.

In his surprise, all he could manage was an indignant "Hey!" The girl behind him giggled.

"Sorry love, can't have you armed. Now, step away from the computer—slowly." Ian almost spoke up again, but thought better of it. Instead, he began a slow sidestep away from the computer with his arms up. All the while, he could hear the sound of the woman moving with him, her gun never leaving his back. When they had essentially switched places, the woman cleared her throat. "That's good. Now, turn and face me—and if I see your hands move even a little…"

"Understood, don't move the hands." Ian replied, trying to sound as calm as possible. He felt the gun leave his back.

"Go ahead, then."

Ian turned slowly, his hands frozen above his head, until he was face-to-face with his captor. She was young—about Ian's age—with a wild head of light brown hair and orange-tinted goggles that covered her eyes and the bridge of her freckled nose. She wore a pilot's jacket over a form fitting yellow body suit—but by far the most noticeable quality about her was the glowing blue device harnessed to her chest. Ian's eyes went wide as all the pieces fell together in his mind.

"You're… _Tracer_." He gaped. The girl waved the hand that now held his assault rifle.

"That I am," she replied before poking his chest with the barrel of his own gun. "And you're not. So why were you using my name to access an Overwatch console?" As Ian was about to respond, he saw something out of the corner of his eye. Behind Tracer, the computer screen began to flicker. At first it seemed like the screen was just faulty—but quickly it began to flicker longer and more frequently. He narrowed his eyes, straining to see. For a moment, he could have sworn he saw a _skull_.

Tracer glared impatiently at him. "Hey, are you even listening to me? Hellooo? I've got guns pointed at you, in case you hadn't noticed."

Ian winced as his comm made a deafening crackling noise in his ear. Then all at once, the computer went black, leaving Tracer's device as the only source of light in their dim corner of the warehouse. Tracer seemed surprised for a moment before eyeing Ian suspiciously.

"What did you just do?" she asked pointedly. Ian shook his head vigorously.

"I didn't do anything! I was just staring at the computer, and—" He stopped as the computer flashed to life once more, but in place of the glowing blue 'A' that had greeted him before, a pixelated purple skull stood stark against a black screen. In his ear, a woman's voice he didn't recognize laughed through the static of his comm.

" _Adios_ , _burro_."

Ian raised an eyebrow. "Adios?" Tracer looked at him like he had grown a second head.

"Adios? What are you—" Tracer stopped mid-sentence and rounded on the computer behind her. She took one look at the skull on the screen and cursed. Before Ian had time to react, the Overwatch pilot had holstered her own weapon, grabbed him by the scruff of his jacket and made it outside of the warehouse. Not a second later, Ian felt the shockwave of an explosion as the computer inside burst into flame, sending nearby metal and debris flying like shrapnel.

Ian was still recovering from his near death-by-explosion when he found himself slammed roughly against the wall of the warehouse with his own gun pointed directly in his face. Had he not been preoccupied staring down the barrel of a gun, Ian would have been impressed with the small girl's impressive strength.

"Who are you?!" Tracer ordered through gritted teeth. "Are you here with Talon? Did you give Sombra access to our database?"

 _Sombra, I've heard that name before._ Ian remembered seeing it lingering near the top of the CIP's most wanted list. She was supposed to be the most dangerous hacker in the world—which meant if she was in Gibraltar's systems, Ian was in a whole different class of trouble. Tracer slammed him hard against the wall again.

"Talk! Or I swear I'll—"

"It's just me!" The words came out of Ian's mouth involuntarily. "I'm not here with Talon, or Sombra, or anybody! I—"

Ian went silent as, to his horror, the massive turret he'd passed on his way to the warehouse lurched upwards in a spark of purple light. His eyes widened as the turret slowly turned on its base to point directly at them.

Ignoring the smaller gun pointed at his temple, Ian grabbed Tracer's arms and, with all the strength he had, kicked off of the wall with his legs.

" _GET DOWN!_ "

The two of them fell to the ground milliseconds before the deafening sound of the turret's high-caliber bullets tearing through the wall of the warehouse filled the air. Ian's body now acted of its own accord, clambering to his feet before grabbing Tracer's hand and pulling her to safety around a corner and out of sight of the turret.

" _Bloody hell!_ " Tracer recovered quickly from the shock of the moment and retrained Ian's gun on him once more. She eyed him suspiciously. "I… don't know whether I should thank you or shoot you right now." Ian risked a smile.

"Personally, I'd prefer the thank you."

Tracer ignored him and pressed two fingers to her ear.

"Control, this is Tracer. Sombra is in our systems…Control?" She cursed again. "Sombra's hijacked our bloody comms."

Ian almost shared his similar problem with her before stopping himself. Somehow he doubted bringing up the task force he'd denied the existence of not a minute ago would help his situation. Instead, Ian decided to play dumb.

"Well, what should we do now?" Tracer shot him a look.

" _You_ are going to stand right there while _I_ take care of this turret." Her eyes narrowed. "And if you try and run away, I'll catch you before you make it a ten yards."

"I'm not planning on getting into a foot race with you, trust me." Ian said with as much glibness as dared.

Tracer eyed him for a second more before nodding slowly.

"Alright…" she turned back towards the way of the turret. "Try not to get killed." She said over her shoulder before disappearing around the corner in a flash of blue."

 _Gee, thanks._ Ian thought as she left. Deciding to take advantage of his brief moment alone, Ian tried his comm again.

"Team—anybody—can you hear me?! We've got Overwatch presence in the base, but we're both being engaged by the Watchpoint's defenses. Do you copy?"

For a brief moment, Ian thought he could make out Martinez's voice through the static before it disappeared again. He growled in frustration. Ian assumed that Roxbern had noticed that something was happening and warned the others, but he could only pray they weren't rushing to join the fight.

 _I hope for their sakes they still haven't found a way into the compound._

Ian was jolted from his thoughts when he heard the deafening sound of turret fire erupt from around the corner. He covered his ears to block out the awful sound reverberating off the surrounding warehouse walls. But as quickly as it had started, the roadway fell silent. For a split-second, Ian assumed the worst had happened—that was until he felt a tap on the shoulder from behind. Ian nearly jumped out of his skin as he whirled around to see Tracer with his gun still in-hand.

"W-what the hell?" he exclaimed, holding his chest in a vain attempt to slow his heartrate. "How did you—" Tracer gave him a smug smile.

"I told you running would be a bad idea, love." Regaining some of his composure, Ian turned back towards the turret.

"Did you take care of the turret?" Tracer sauntered up next to him, still smiling.

"Nope…"

Before Ian could respond, there was a massive _BOOM_ from around the corner, followed by chunks of falling metal.

"…But that pulse bomb sure did."

Ian could only blink in amazement as the turret's smoking wreckage continued to fall in the alley.

"You're crazy."

Tracer giggled.

"Only a bit." She prodded his side with his confiscated rifle. "Now, let's get you back to base. I've got some questions I'd like answered." Ian cursed inwardly as Tracer ushered him down the path behind them and further into the Watchpoint.

 _Out of the pan and into the fire._ He thought morosely as they walked. If Tracer got him contained around whoever else was waiting for them at 'base,' Ian knew his best-case scenario was some kind of hostage should his team come looking for him. Fighting her here without a weapon definitely wasn't an option if he wanted to keep having a pulse…but maybe there was another way.

 _She hasn't noticed my comm unit,_ he thought. _I'm alone here, as far as she knows. Maybe I can convince her I'm here as a friend._

"I'm telling you, there's no reason for this." He tried in his most innocent-sounding tone. "I'm not here to hurt you."

 _Just to arrest you and all your friends, is all._

Tracer laughed from behind him.

"Sorry love, you'll have to forgive me if I don't exactly believe you."

"It's true!" Ian said defensively. "I tried to tell you as much before we almost blew up!" Ian heard more guffawing behind him.

"Okay then, why _are_ you here?"

He didn't have an answer for that. His mind raced, knowing that a delay even a second too long would give away his lie.

"To join you."

The words practically fell out of Ian's mouth on their own. Luckily for him, Tracer sounded just as surprised by the sudden declaration as he was.

"You…what?" she faltered, her mocking tone gone. Ian saw his chance to drive his cover home.

"You heard me—I came here to join you." He said with growing confidence. "Once I heard there had been a satellite launched from an old Overwatch base, I had to come see if it was really you." He looked over his shoulder and gave Tracer a smile. "Lucky for me, it was."

He watched as Tracer wrestled with his words, her brow furrowed.

"If that's true, then…" Tracers eyes suddenly went wide. "Oh, you've got to be _kidding_ me." Ian raised an eyebrow, confused.

"Huh?"

It took Ian a moment to realize that Tracer was no longer looking at him, but _past_ him. He followed her gaze back over his shoulder until something made him stop dead.

At the end of the roadway they were walking on, half-buried under discarded parts and age, sat the biggest mech Ian had ever seen. What had immediately caught his attention hadn't been the robot's size, however. It had been its eyes now glowing an all-too-familiar shade of purple.

Ian was starting to hate purple.

There was low rumbling sound as the hulking machine groaned to life, earth and dust falling away as it rose from its long-untouched corner. Its purple eyes pulsed with light. Ian swallowed hard.

"I don't suppose that's your friendly 'Welcome to the Watchpoint' robot, by any chance?" Tracer shook her head slowly, never taking her eyes off of the mech.

"No, that's more the 'we should start running _right-bloody-now_ ' robot." As the robot reached is full towering height, its head tilted downward to stare directly at the two tiny figures standing at its feet. Tracer grabbed him by the arm. "Come on!"

Ian swore as he took off into a dead sprint with the brown-haired pilot. Behind him, he could hear the metallic joints of the robot screeching against each other as it began to move.

The two sped around the corner they had come from, passing the smoking crater that had once been the hacked defense turret. Ian came up alongside Tracer and pointed towards the wreckage.

"Can't you just pulse bomb that thing like you did the turret?" Ian shouted between labored breaths. "Another explosion would be really nice right about now!"

But Tracer merely shook her head.

"I only brought one—I didn't think I'd be fighting off death twice today!" Despite their break-neck speed, Ian noticed that Tracer didn't seem winded at all.

"So what do we do?!" A wild smile spread across Tracer's face.

"We improvise."

Tracer tossed Ian's gun back at him so abruptly he almost didn't catch it. Ian looked down at the gun, and back up at Tracer in surprise.

"I've got gun privileges back now?" Tracer responded with a painful prod to his side with her own weapon.

"So long as you keep it pointed at the killer robot." Her gaze turned upward towards the tops of the warehouses that surrounded them. "I'm going to draw his fire from above—find cover and look for an opening!"

Ian opened his mouth to respond, but Tracer was already gone, leaving nothing but a bright streak of blue shooting towards the roofline.

 _She's not great at goodbyes_. He thought dryly as he ducked behind a nearby pile debris. Behind him, he could hear the thunderous footsteps of the mech draw closer. A few seconds later, Ian saw the massive machine's head come into view above the roofline.

 _Okay, the team_ _has_ _to see this._ Holding onto hope, Ian tried his comm unit once more.

"Team, it's Ian. Can anyone hear me?"

His heart sank when only static came back over the line…until the sound of Roxbern's frantic voice crackled through.

"Sergeant! Is that you? Thank god, we thought you were toast!" Ian breathed a sigh of relief.

"Roxbern, where are you guys? Talon is taking over the Watchpoint's defenses remotely!"

"You mean like that big-ass robot with the purple eyes?" Roxbern laughed darkly. "We noticed."

"Well, that big-ass robot is on its way to kill every last one of us." Ian shot back. "Now where are you?!"

"We're back in the Orca! But don't worry sir, we're making our round to light that thing up!"

Ian looked up to the sound of gunfire to see Tracer leap off of a nearby warehouse and onto the shoulder of the mech. It's rusted head twisted to face her, only to receive a volley of bullets that shot out one of its purple eyes.

 _Tracer…_

Ian felt his blood freeze in his veins as he realized what danger was coming directly for the robot, and her with it.

"Roxbern! Do not engage the robot! There are friendlies in harm's way! Do you copy?!" Ian's panic grew as static began to retake his comm.

"S…geant…reaking….up…" Roxbern's voice cut in and out for a few seconds before being lost completely once more.

"Roxbern— _Roxbern!_ Shit!" Ian swore, tearing his earpiece out and throwing it to the ground in frustration. No longer concerned about being spotted by the mech, Ian cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled as loud as he could. " _TRACER!"_

But between the groaning of the mech and the bursts of gunfire, the Overwatch agent was deaf to his warning.

Ian knew that there were at most a few short minutes before the CIP Orca began its assault, which would tear through the mech and Tracer both. Every move he made would be the difference between life and death. So when he saw a drain pipe leading towards the rooftop Tracer had used to jump onto the mech, Ian's body moved of its own accord.

Leaving his gun behind, he clambered up the pipe quickly and hauled himself onto the roof. He tried calling for Tracer again, but again he went unheard. he took off own the roof, running closer and closer towards the giant mech.

Tracer was still harrying the machine, seemingly unaware that Ian was now only several feet away from her. He was about to try and call her again, when his eyes caught sight of the glinting metal hull of his hovership approaching fast from the direction of the ocean.

 _Time's up._

With only a second to make up his mind, threw himself onto the mech's shoulder, landing hard on the unforgiving metal. He quickly steadied himself before running full-tilt at Tracer. The brown-haired girl had just enough time to look up at Ian before he collided with her, knocking her off of the mech and sending both of them plummeting to the ground. Thankfully, both of them knew instinctually to roll out of their two-story fall, but the impact still left Ian reeling.

Tracer turned angrily towards Ian, already unleashing a stream of choice curses his way, but Ian ignored her. He turned back to see his hovership reach the clearing, it's missiles primed and locked…but to his horror, he saw the mech's own massive guns already moving into position to release a deadly payload of its own.

The rest was a blur to Ian. He remembered two sets of missiles launching. He remembered lunging towards Tracer. He remembered the rush of air and white-hot pain on his back.

Then he remembered only black.


	5. Chapter 3: Infiltration

_EDIT: For those of you re-reading, only minor tweaks to this chapter. Thanks!_

 _AN: Hi everyone—We're on to chapter 3! Originally, I had intended this to be included in the previous chapter, but I realized as I was writing that it would make it disproportionately long in comparison to others, so here we are._

 _Enjoy, and don't forget to leave a review!_

 **Chapter 3: Infiltration**

When Ian opened his eyes, he became acutely aware of three things.

First, despite what seemed to him like astronomical odds, he wasn't dead. Quite the opposite in fact—aside from some mild grogginess, he felt better than he had in a long time.

Second was that he was in a markedly different place than where he and Tracer had landed after the explosive exchange between his team's hovership and the hacked Overwatch defense mech. Instead of a run-down collection of warehouses, Ian found himself on a plain white cot in what appeared to be a sophisticated infirmary—with screens and various machines mounted throughout the pristine white room.

Third was the enormous gorilla that was currently looming over him.

Ian yelped in surprise as he instinctually tried to crawl away from the giant primate. The gorilla adjusted the glasses that rested on the bridge of his nose before grunting.

"I see you're finally awake. Good, I have some questions for you to answer." Ian blinked. He'd never heard a gorilla speak before, let alone speak so eloquently.

 _There's only one talking gorilla I've ever heard of…_ Ian looked up, gaping. "You're…Winston, aren't you?" Winston snorted.

"Perceptive. Was it the glasses that gave me away, or perhaps that I'm a super-intelligent gorilla you found while snooping around an old Overwatch base?" Ian didn't have to work hard to hear the distain in the gorilla's gruff tone. "Now, care to tell me exactly who you are and _why_ you're here?"

Ian usually prided himself on his ability to respond quickly to situations like this—but his recent return to consciousness (and the shock of being questioned by a talking gorilla) had caught him completely off guard. He tried to compose himself.

 _"I told Tracer, I'm here to join—"_

 _Winston placed a large, hairy hand on Ian shoulder, squeezing it hard enough to let Ian know he should stop talking. Winston stared directly at Ian with stern, yellow eyes._

 _"I know what you told Tracer. I want to know why you're_ _really_ _here." Ian felt a chill crawl up his spine._

 _Does he know I came here with the CIP? Or worse, does he know I came here to arrest him?_ _Ian tried his best not to let his apprehension show._

"I…well…" To his immense relief, Ian was spared when the door on the far side of the room slid open, revealing none other than Tracer. Despite his predicament, he was relieved that she was okay. When the young pilot caught sight of Winston, she gave him a pointed look.

"Winston! I thought we agreed we'd let him recover before you came in here asking questions!" Winston rubbed his temples with a massive hand.

"We don't know who he is, Lena! He could be with Talon, or a spy, or—" Tracer crossed the room and put a soft hand on his arm, silencing him.

"He saved me from a _missile_ , love. That doesn't sound much like a Talon agent, does it?" Ian saw Winston visibly soften as Tracer spoke. When she was done, he let out a heavy sigh.

"No, I suppose not. We just need to be careful, Lena. You know what will happen if the wrong people find out we're here."

"We'll be attacked, thrown in prison, or worse—what else is new?" She flashed her teammate a cheerful grin. "That's part of the job, isn't it?" Tracer took a seat at the edge of Ian's bed, extending her smile to him. "Between all the explosions and what-not, I don't think we were properly introduced before. The name's Lena Oxton, but everyone calls me Tracer." She giggled. "But I guess you already knew that. What's your name, love?" Ian sat up and gave her a cautious smile of his own.

"I'm Ian, Ian Grey." Tracer extended her hand.

"Well, nice to meet you, Ian! And, you know, thanks for saving me from an explosion and all that." Ian looked down at her outstretched hand for a brief moment before extending his own to shake.

"It's nice to meet you too," he smiled. "And don't mention it." Tracer nodded, satisfied before rising from the bed.

"So, tell us more about how you found us, Ian. I'm sure hearing about where you came from will help the big guy feel a little less paranoid." Tracer beamed. Winston did not.

Ian took a deep breath. _Just play it cool—you've come this far._

"I was a member of the UN's Coalition for International Peace," He began. "But when I heard the rumors that Overwatch was coming back, I snuck out and tried to track you down as soon as I could."

 _The best lies have a touch of truth in them_ , he thought as he watched the two agents digest his story. Winston rubbed his chin, eyeing Ian the whole time.

"Lena tells me there was a hovership that took down our defense mech—got shot down in the process. Care to explain that?"

Ian did his best to mask his wave of guilt that washed over him—If he'd lost his team, it would have been the first soldiers to die while under his command. But he couldn't afford to mourn now.

"Those must have been soldiers the UN sent to bring me back." After a pause, he added "Were they killed? In the explosion I mean? They might have been after me, but I didn't want them dead." Winston stared at Ian for what seemed like ages before he spoke again.

"Athena registered five survivors that managed to jump into the bay as the ship tried to escape out to sea, so you can leave them off of your conscience." He turned to Tracer. "But if those were UN soldiers, that means they know we're here. We'll have to move soon." He looked back at Ian, suspicion still clear on his features. "Until I can verify that you are who you say you are, however, we—and you—aren't going anywhere." He made his way towards the door on his four powerful limbs. "Lena—I expect you to keep an eye on our… _guest_ while I do a background check. Is that clear?"

Tracer nodded. "Sure thing, big guy," she gave Ian a playful grin. "I'll make sure he doesn't blow us all up." Winston exited the room, grumbling. When he was gone, Tracer leaned casually against the wall. "You'll have to forgive him, he's actually a huge softy underneath all that hair and armor. He's just protective about us, is all." Ian raised an eyebrow.

"Us? You mean there's more of you?"

Tracer's face lit up. "That's right! You haven't seen the others yet! Come on, I'll introduce you to the team—or who's turned up so far, at least." In a flash of blue, Tracer was as the door. She paused on her way out to look back in Ian's direction. "First though, you might want to change into your clothes… we left them on that table over there."

All at once, Ian realized that he was, in fact, not wearing his own clothes, but a flimsy hospital gown. He felt his face flush.

"O-Oh, yeah. Uh…thanks." Tracer giggled before disappearing out the door as well.

After he was sure that Tracer wasn't about to reenter the room, Ian swung his legs over the edge of his cot and landed on the cold floor. His shirt, pants and combat jacket were patched in places where shrapnel had shot through it following the explosion, but otherwise were cleaned and folded like new. Checking the door one more time, Ian disrobed and quickly dressed himself. He found his boots resting on the floor next to his cot and pulled them on as well. Finally, Ian felt around the side of his jacket until he felt an almost unnoticeable bulge near the seam. He pulled on the soft interior fabric until it ripped, and a small, flat device fell into his waiting hand.

Standard-issue emergency comm units were sewn into the uniform of all U.N. field agents in the event they were captured and needed a secret way to signal for help. While he technically wasn't a captive of anyone, Ian had lost his original comm unit in the chaos of his and Tracer's fight—making this his only means of making contact with his superiors.

 _I'm probably lucky I lost my comm,_ he mused as he turned the small piece of equipment over with his fingers. _Deserters don't usually carry around an open line of communication with the people hunting them down._ Ian clicked the tiny power switch on the device's side to 'On', and its holographic keyboard display sprang to life above it. Glancing periodically at the entrance to the room to make sure he wasn't being watched, he quickly composed his message.

 _Sgt. Grey — Alive. Squadron presumed alive. Confirmation requested._

 _Overwatch Agents confirmed at Gibraltar. To relocate soon. Size of group, intentions, and next destination currently unknown. Currently undercover as UN defector. Please advise._

Ian hastily added the necessary encryptions before sending the transmission and stowing the device in his pocket. It would take some time before the message was decrypted and worked its way up to the Secretary General, which meant he was on his own for the time being. He almost couldn't help the grin that came to his face.

 _No harm in enjoying my cover a little._ After taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, Ian followed after Tracer out of the infirmary.

The interior of Watchpoint Gibraltar's main facility was surprisingly well maintained. built into the Rock of Gibraltar itself, the rough-cut stone walls were laden with all manner of machine, monitor and lighting humming smoothly with power. The large main lobby was filled with a strange assortment of work benches, lab equipment, chalk boards and even a tire swing hanging from the ceiling, all in no particular order. Overlooking the main level was a large room encased in glass, though one of its windows had a large ragged hole in his center. Even from across the lobby, Ian could make out Winston's hulking form sitting at an equally immense computer. He found Tracer leaning against a stone pillar to his right. When she saw him, she pushed off of the support to greet him.

"I'm glad you found your clothes—can't have you meeting the team is a paper dress, can we?" Ian couldn't help but laugh.

"Probably not." Tracer turned on her heel towards a nearby corridor and motioned for him to follow.

"Come on, everybody should be somewhere in the common areas." Ian followed the girl down the hall, passing rows and rows of doorways. "These are the living quarters here," she explained as they walked. "They're nothing special, but the beds are actually pretty comfortable." Ian glanced down the entire length of the hall.

"That's a lot of rooms; are there really that many members in Overwatch?" Tracer gave him a wistful smile.

"There used to be. Back in Overwatch's hay day, this place was always crowded with people coming and going—but that was a long time ago. There's only six of us here now, seven if you count Athena…" Tracer's somber mood was short-lived, and she quickly flashed Ian a more playful grin. "But on the bright side, you get to choose any room you want! I switch most every night, just to keep things interesting."

As she finished, Ian noticed a line of doors that were significantly taller and wider than the rest. He pointed them out to Tracer, who laughed.

"Those are rooms for some of the… bigger members of our team. Not all of us fit in the regular rooms."

Ian jumped as a great booming laugh echoed from the hallway behind him. "The bigger the hero, the bigger the room, fraulein!"

When he turned around, Ian came face to face with the biggest man he'd ever seen. His massive frame towered several feet above Ian's head and his broad, muscular shoulders spanned almost the entire length of the hall. He had long, grey hair that was combed back out of his face, and an equally impressive beard that covered his entire jaw. His imposing appearance was made complete with the large scar over his left eye. His gaze fell to Ian, and he raised a bushy eyebrow.

"And who might this be?" he asked leaning down to get a better look. Tracer put a hand on Ian's shoulder.

"Reinhardt, this is Ian! Ian, this is—"

"Ha! Surely _Reinhardt Wilhelm_ needs no introduction!" Reinhardt beat his chest with a huge fist for emphasis. "Protector of the innocent, defender of justice, and three-time winner of Atlas News's Man of the Year award, at your service." Reinhardt took Ian's hand and shook it vigorously. Ian smiled wide, half from awe at the living legend in front of him, and half from how absurdly small his hand looked in comparison.

"It's an honor to meet you, Reinhardt." said Ian. The man smiled behind his beard.

"The honor is all mine, boy! From what I hear, you saved our young Tracer here from the very jaws of death!" Reinhardt waggled his eyebrows at Tracer playfully. "In every story I heard as a child, the damsel always rewards her savior with a kiss."

Tracer punched one of Reinhardt's huge arms.

"Come off it, old man! I am _not_ a damsel." Reinhardt simply laughed again.

"I kid, little Lena! I've seen you fight enough to know that." Tracer blew a rogue strand of hair out of her face.

"Fine. I'll give you a pass this time. Do you know where the others are?"

"I believe Brigitte and Master Lindholm are still in the armory," Reinhardt said as he rose to his full height once more. "I was on the way there myself, I'll join you!" And so the old warrior fell in behind them, loudly telling the story of how he was technically voted Man of the Year a fourth time, but passed the award to his former commander Jack Morrison out of pity.

As they approached the broad steel doors that Ian assumed lead to the base's armory, he began to hear the muffled sounds of shouting from the other side. Tracer sighed.

"It sounds like those two are at it again—how can two people so similar bicker so much?" Reinhardt let out another booming laugh.

"Trust me little one, if you close _anyone_ in a room with Torbjörn for too long, there will be fighting. Come, let us see what they're feuding about now." The massive man shouldered past Ian and Tracer and effortlessly pushed the heavy doors open.

They entered into a spacious room covered from floor to ceiling in tools, weaponry, combat equipment and other more advanced things Ian couldn't identify. A large workbench cut through the center of the room, and on either side of it stood a short, stout man and a tall, muscular woman locked in a heated argument.

"YOU left the blowtorch on next to Sir Reinhardt's armor!" The girl roared, jabbing a finger accusingly at a gargantuan suit of armor hanging behind her. "If I hadn't caught it in time, it would have had a _hole_ burned right through it!" The small man jumped nimbly onto the workbench, shaking a hammer at her.

"Har! I didn't touch yer blowtorch, woman! You forgot about it with yer head in the clouds. Thinkin' of some _womany_ thing, I'd wager." The girl's face turned a noticeable shade of red.

"Why _you little_ …"

"Brigitte! Lindholm! Calm yourselves!" Reinhardt bellowed, his arms easily spanning the workbench between them to grab hold of both parties. Brigitte looked up at Reinhardt like a daughter looking to her father for reassurance.

"I didn't leave the blowtorch by your armor, Sir, I _swear_. He—"

"It is fine, Brigitte. It was a simple mistake; it makes no matter to me who did what." Reinhardt gave her a boisterous smile, which had the blonde freckled girl following suit in a matter of seconds. From the bench, Torbjörn grunted before hopping down to the floor.

"This is why I don't like sharing a workplace—too many _distractions_." Brigitte clearly noticed the older man's emphasis on the last word, and peered around Reinhardt to stick her tongue out at him.

"Now now, my little friend, some company in this dingy room will do you some good." Torbjörn glowered dangerously.

"And who are you calling little, eh?!" Reinhardt laughed, something Ian had begun to realize was a very common occurrence.

"Don't take offense, old friend—you're _all_ little to me." Seemingly remembering that he hadn't come alone, he added, "Ah! Brigitte, Torbjörn, we have a newcomer in our ranks. This young man is Ian; our recent intruder and a hopeful recruit to our glorious cause!" With one sweeping motion, Reinhardt caught Ian beneath his arm and moved him effortlessly in front of him. "My boy, this beautiful young woman is Brigitte—my skilled mechanic, apprentice, and steadfast companion." Brigitte clapped Ian on the shoulder with a surprising amount of strength.

"Nice to meet you!" she greeted with a light German accent. Ian returned the greeting as he rubbed his shoulder. Reinhardt motioned to his right.

"And this is—" Ian almost jumped when he found the little man had climbed onto a stool and was now inches from his face. "…Torbjörn Lindholm, our weapons master, and somewhat eccentric comrade." Torbjörn inspected Ian as he might a new machine. He suddenly felt a twinge of pain as the man's mechanical arm prodded at his bicep.

"Ow, hey!" Torbjörn only grunted.

"A little wiry, but he should do fine." He hopped down off of his stool and extended his mechanical arm upward. "Good to meet you, Ivan." Ian grabbed it cautiously to shake.

"Good to meet you as well—and it's Ian, not Ivan." Torbjörn shrugged.

"Close enough."

While Ian grumbled to himself, Tracer flashed past the group to pick up a menacing-looking shotgun mounted on the far wall.

"Torby, is this new? This looks wicked!" she exclaimed. She looked down the barrel before grinning devilishly. "Can I have it?" Torbjörn quickly crossed the room and snatched the gun from the pilot, eliciting a groan of disappointment.

"That isn't ready yet!" he said defensively. "Besides, this isn't right for your...nimbly-bimbly fightin' style." He had to jump to place the gun back onto its mount. Tracer crossed her arms, still pouting.

"Well, you'll have to finish it on the road, love. Winston thinks our location's compromised. We'll be moving soon."

"Moving?! We just _got_ here! I only just finished settin' up my turrets…"

 _Yeah, thanks for that._ Ian thought, remembering the massive turret that had almost turned him into Swiss cheese.

"What makes Winston think we've been compromised?" Brigitte asked. Tracer appeared at Ian's side and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Well, when Ian came to find us, he was followed by UN soldiers who were trying to capture him, same as us."

Torbjörn growled, crossing his arms. "Well that's just _perfect_. Back on the run again." Ian could practically feel the icy gaze coming from the weapon master. Fortunately, Reinhardt came to his rescue.

"Now now, my friend! We knew our days here were numbered when we sent that satellite into the air—and if we have indeed gained a new recruit, I'd say a change in scenery is a small price to pay." He winked his scarred eye at Ian. "Besides, I would welcome a chance for some _combat_!"

Ian heard the metal door creak open behind them, followed by a feminine voice.

"Reinhardt, I hope I misheard you—you're getting too old to go rushing off into every fight you find."

Ian turned to see an absolutely stunning woman standing in the doorway with a holo-folder tucked beneath her arm. She was wearing a white lab coat with an orange turtleneck and black skirt underneath, and her silvery-blonde hair was tied back in a messy ponytail. Her eyes were the most brilliant color blue he'd ever seen. As he gaped, the woman's eyes found him.

"Ah! I was wondering where my patient went. You really should still be recuperating." Ian quirked an eyebrow, regaining himself.

"Patient?" The woman touched her forehead.

"Right, you were unconscious when we met—apologies." she smiled. "Dr. Angela Zeigler, at your service." Ian felt excitement rise up in him again.

 _How many legends can a guy meet in a day?_

"Mercy! Or…Dr. Zeigler. It's great to meet you. I guess I know why I feel so good after getting blown up now." The doctor laughed softly.

"Your injuries weren't so bad, in truth. Nevertheless, I'm glad that you're feeling better." She turned her attention towards Tracer. "Lena, did I hear you say that we'll be leaving Gibraltar soon?" Tracer nodded.

"The big guy wants to keep us head of the wolves. We're just waiting for him to—" she was cut off as the same elegant voice Ian had heard in the warehouse when he first arrived came reverberating out of a set of speakers in the ceiling.

"All Overwatch agents—please report to the main lobby. Winston has an important announcement to make." Tracer smiled.

"Well, look at that! Looks like he's finished." She grabbed Ian by the arm and began pulling him towards the door. "Come on, love—let's get this cleared up so we can give you a proper initiation!"

As Ian let himself be pulled out of the room and back into the hall, he couldn't help the small pang of guilt that gnawed at his stomach.

 _You're too trusting, Tracer. You should have listened to Winston when you had the chance._

/

When everyone had gathered back in the main lobby, Ian expertly concealed the tension he now carried in his entire body. This was the moment of truth—when he would either be accepted or exposed. It was more crucial than ever to keep his composure here and now, or risk the entire mission.

 _Not to mention my own wellbeing._ He thought gravely. _I might be good, but there's no chance in hell I'd walk out of here in one piece if there's a fight._

Beside him, Tracer was chatting happily with Brigitte, seemingly unconcerned with the possibility that he might be an enemy. In fact, none of the people in the cavernous room seemed wary of him at all.

 _I guess I should consider that a good sign… or a sign that they're confident they can take me down if I am a spy._

Everyone looked up to see Winston emerge from his computer lab and effortlessly swing down to the lower floor using the overhanging tire swing. When he landed, he adjusted his glasses once more before addressing the room.

"Hello everyone. As you've no doubt noticed—we have a stranger in our ranks." Ian felt several pairs of eyes fall on him, but showed nothing but calm in his face. Winston began to pace back and forth as he continued. "Sergeant Ian Grey claims that he tracked us down with the intention to join us, even though he was discovered snooping around our stockyard with a UN hovership in tow." Ian grimaced internally.

 _He's definitely not trying to paint a trustworthy picture of me._

The ape straightened, shifting from four limbs to two. "It is also worth noting that he did save Lena from one of our own mechs that appears to have been hacked by Talon. And even with Athena running extensive diagnostics on our internal systems to make sure Sombra is locked out for good, she managed to gain access the sergeant's file from the UN database."

Ian felt a shiver run up his neck.

 _This could be bad_. He felt his muscles tense, readying themselves for action. Winston waved a large hand, and a holo-screen flashed to life behind him. On it was his official UN dossier. His birthday, education, past in the military, mission history, all of it was there just as he remembered it. Just one thing seemed out of place—at the bottom, in a row labeled "Status", the word "Active" had been replaced with "DEFECTED" in bold red letters.

Right then, it was the most beautiful thing Ian had ever seen.

 _Thank you for checking your emergency comm, Reiker._

"An impressive resume, boy!" Reinhardt declared, slapping him on the back. "I admire any man who can bring every solider in his charge home alive!" Mercy nodded in agreement.

"It is nice to see that you have a healthy respect for life, Mr. Grey." Ian smiled.

Tracer flashed to the front of the room and propped herself up against Winston's massive shoulder.

"See big guy, I told you he was alright!" She gave Ian a wink. "I guess we can get him set up in the database now, yeah?" Winston huffed as he went back down to all fours.

"I'll admit, his story seems to hold up—but you don't become an Overwatch agent simply by _not_ being a spy. He'll have to make the cut, just like everyone else." He turned stare at Ian. "And he'll have to do it on the go—we're heading out tomorrow."

In the back, Torbjörn began to grumble again.

"And where, pray tell are we goin'?" Winston smiled, and the holo-screen switched from his dossier to a map of Europe. From the tiny peninsula that was Gibraltar, a red line began to stretch across the map, finally coming to rest somewhere in Germany. Behind him, Ian heard Reinhardt roar his approval.

"We're returning to my home! Splendid!"

"Not just Germany, Mr. Wilhelm, Eichenwalde." Athena's voice echoed.

"Overwatch bases are too obvious a destination for us now," Winston explained aloud. "Whereas I doubt anyone will expect us to take up residence in an abandoned town. We even have a friend on the ground inspecting the location as we speak, just to be sure it's secure." Ian wondered who this "friend on the ground" might be, but decided to keep the question to himself. Instead, it was Mercy to asked the next question.

"How are we planning to cross the better half of Europe undetected? We aren't exactly an inconspicuous group." The gorilla chuckled as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"I have that taken care of, Angela. You'll see tomorrow." He addressed the entire room once more. "Now, I'd advise you all pack your things and get a good night's sleep—we're leaving first thing!"

Ian let out a sigh of relief as the meeting came to an end. It seemed that, for now at least, he and his cover were safe. Several members of the team congratulated him as they left—though Ian couldn't help but notice that Winston still watched him intently as they dispersed. He was saved when Tracer ran up beside him, obscuring his view of the gorilla.

"Want me to walk you to your room, Mr. Agent-in-Training?" Ian gave her the first truly comfortable smile he'd had all day.

"Sure."

As they walked down the hall, Tracer happily recalled her own training before she had been allowed to join the team of heroes.

"Winston gave me my entrance test—I think he went a little soft of on me for some of the written stuff, but I still managed to break every record for the obstacle course!" Ian laughed.

"That doesn't surprise me somehow." He checked behind them before adding, "I still don't think Winston likes me very much." Tracer smiled at him, dimples appearing on her lightly freckled cheeks.

"He'll come around, love. He just need some time to warm up to you is all. And once he does, there isn't a better, more loyal friend on earth." She stopped in front of one of the vacant rooms and the door slid open with a _whoosh_. "This one's you. You'd better try and rest up, or Mercy will be on your case the minute she sees bags under your eyes." As she turned to go, Ian stopped her.

"Tracer, hold up." She turned to face him, quirking her head to the side. "I just wanted to say thank you. For sticking up for me, for not shooting me—for everything, I guess." She laughed.

"Well, not every day that the one who saves your life thanks you—but I'll take it." She gently touched his shoulder. "Get some sleep, Ian. Tomorrow is your first day official day in Overwatch." With one last smile, Tracer turned and left. Ian watched her walk down the hall and disappear around the corner before he finally entered his room. As the door shut behind him, he permitted himself a deep breath.

 _One day down,_ he thought to himself. _How many to go, I wonder?_ Ian took off his jacket and tossed it onto his bed before slumping down beside it. He scanned his modest apartments for only a moment before he noticed the faint green blinking light coming from inside the lining of his jacket. He dug his fingers into the hole he'd ripped earlier and produced his emergency comm. _It looks like Reiker sent me a reply._ Curious, he accessed the comm's display and opened the message. Bright green text flashed onto the projected screen.

 _Sgt._

 _Glad to hear you are alive—including your pilot, all five members of your strike team established communication from an isle off Gibraltar earlier today._

 _After deliberation with other officers, we've decided to utilize your unique position to our advantage._

 _We have altered your records to corroborate your story. Remain undercover and report all movements and actions of Overwatch agents. Discover how deep this goes—once we have sufficient intel, we'll put out this whole fire out at once._

 _Good work. Look for further orders._

 _-Reiker_

Ian finished reading the message, then stored the comm safely back into its hiding place. He stretched out on the bed as he digested his new orders.

 _From soldier to spy._ He mused to himself. _Not exactly how I saw my day going_. _And to think, I'm going to be traveling with actual Overwatch Agents!_ He caught himself as his mind started to wander towards the daydreams of joining Overwatch he'd had in the naïveté of his childhood. _No. Don't forget why you're here. These are criminals, and you're here to take them down—for everyone's benefit._

Ian rolled onto his side, suddenly realizing how heavy his eyelids felt.

 _For everyone's benefit._ The words echoed through his mind as he slipped into sleep.

/

Ian woke the next morning to the sound of someone banging on his door.

"Rise and shine, newbie!" Tracer's sing-song voice came muffled from outside. "We're just about ready to go!"

Ian rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "I'm up," he called back groggily. "I'll be right out."

With no personal affects to speak of, Ian was ready in a matter of minutes. After looking at himself in the mirror however, he found himself wishing he at least had a brush. He walked out into the hall to find Tracer up and energetic as ever, a small duffle bag clutched in her hands. She smirked at him.

"Nice bed-head, love." Ian tried unsuccessfully to smooth down some of his cowlicks.

"Thanks for noticing." He said, his voice still heavy with sleep. Tracer giggled.

"Don't worry—there will be showers on the train." Ian looked at her confused.

"Did you say train?" Tracer just smiled in reply.

She started down the hall, leaving Ian no choice but to follow after her. She lead him down a narrow hallway he hadn't noticed during their first tour, through a tangle of left and right turns until they reached a dead end. Ian first thought that Tracer had just made a wrong turn somewhere along their way, until she dropped her bag, walked up to the empty wall at the end of the hall and placed her hand flat on its surface. After a few seconds, Athena's voice sounded through the hall.

"Access granted. Everyone is gathered downstairs, Ms. Oxton." Then the wall began to move, folding in on itself until the staircase behind it came into view. Tracer collected her bag and started down the stairs.

"Thanks Athena!" she turned to grin at Ian. "Pretty wicked, huh?" Ian nodded dumbly as he followed her down the steep, winding steps.

They descended for what seemed to Ian like ages before the stairway finally opened up into a cavernous room that resembled a sort of high-tech subway station. thick steel pillars rose around them to support the earth above, and at the end of the smooth concrete platform loomed a massive, sleek white train sitting at the mouth of a tunnel.

"Woah," Ian breathed as he took in the scene. To his left, Mercy approached with a weathered suitcase of her own in hand.

"Magnificent, is it not? This was one of Overwatch's best kept secrets—rapid subterranean transit with stations all over the world. I had even forgotten about it myself." Ian looked at her in surprise.

"You mean this thing goes all the way to Germany?" the Doctor smiled.

"And further, if need be. But the surprises don't end there—wait until you see the inside." She winked at him before making her way towards the train.

Further down the platform, Ian saw the rest of the team loading luggage and supplies into the train's storage compartments. As he and Tracer approached, Reinhardt greeted them enthusiastically with two immense boxes tucked under his arms.

"Welcome friends! We were getting worried you might sleep right through our departure!" Ian laughed.

"Sleep through it? How could we miss _this_?" From behind him, Ian heard a grunt, followed by a low, rumbling voice.

"You may want to temper that excitement of yours, Sergeant." He turned to see Winston standing behind him, clad in his armor and touting a large bag in one arm. Ian gave the gorilla a quizzical look.

"And why's that?" The wry smile that Winston gave him gave Ian an uneasy feeling in his gut.

"Because, Mr. Grey—that train is where we'll see if you're worthy of becoming an agent of Overwatch… and if you'll be joining us in Germany, or finding your way back home."


	6. Chapter 4: Tryouts

AN: Hey all, apologies for the stupid wait time for this next chapter—I kept looking back at chapter two and thinking "this could be way better," so I made the decision to go back and rewrite it…which ended up making it twice as long. I had to make other small tweaks to the other chapters to accommodate the changes, but overall I think the story is much better because of it. (Those of you who've already read through those chapters shouldn't have to go back and reread if you don't feel like it!)

 _Also, as some of you might know, it was revealed awhile back that Tracer doesn't necessarily play on the team I'm writing her on (whoops). So while I whole-heartedly approve and support of the canon Tracer's lady-love, I'll be writing her as at least bi-sexual in this story to jibe with the plot I have planned. Sorry to all of you WidowxTracer fans!_

 _Anyway, let's get started!_

Chapter 4: Tryouts

After going through the grueling advanced training that he'd been required to complete before entering the CIP, Ian had contented himself with the knowledge that he'd just finished what would surely be the hardest test he'd ever have to pass.

Laying in the Medbay of the Overwatch Underground Bullet Train, drenched in sweat, covered in welts and bruises, with a broken arm for good measure, he knew that he had been very, very wrong.

It had only been two days since they had left Gibraltar, and Ian had managed to earn himself a visit to the Medbay five times after five stunning failures in Winston's "tryouts" for the team. He winced as he felt the unsettling sensation of his broken arm being set into place underneath his skin.

"No offense, Doctor, but some of this technology of yours freaks me out." He swore as he felt the bone finally set with an audible _crack_. Beside him, Dr. Zeigler set aside her biotic tractor and began to cover his arm with some kind of gel.

"Well, without my 'freaky' technology' Mr. Grey, you'd have been out of commission for our entire trip after your first go in The Fun House."

Ian clenched his jaw. The "Fun House" as Torbjörn had so lovingly named it, comprised the last three cars of the sprawling subterranean train, and was filled to the brim with traps, obstacles, and mechs designed to do everything short of kill. Each car contained a different set of dangers, and Winston had strictly forbid anyone from telling Ian what would be waiting for him. Ian's first attempt had lasted all of three seconds before a barrage bean bag bullets had caught him in the head and concussed him.

"You're right, I guess I shouldn't be complain—ow!" He shot the beautiful doctor a look as she removed a needle from his arm as quickly as she had poked him with it. A foxy smile appeared on her face.

"Apologies, I figured I should use less _creepy_ medicine to extract your blood sample." Mercy wheeled away from him on her stool and deposited the fresh blood from her syringe onto a microscope slide. When she slid the sample under the lens and adjusted the focus, she frowned. "Biotics are a wonder of medicine, but they're still not something you want too much of in your system." As she examined the sample beneath the microscope, Ian propped himself up in bed.

"Why? Are they addictive or something?" Mercy sighed, not looking up from her work.

"No, nothing like that. But like any medicine, too much of a good thing can lead to…unintended consequences." The blonde doctor clicked her tongue as she looked up from her work and rolled back over to her patient. "Which is why I can only give you one more treatment on our trip, I'm afraid."

"Only one more?" Ian sputtered as he felt his stomach contort into knots. "That means I'll only get one more shot at passing this crazy test! Two if I'm willing to recover the old fashioned way…"

"One." Mercy said firmly as she began to put her tools away. "Even if you were to pass on your second attempt, any injuries you would sustain in the process would make you a liability rather than an asset without my biotics to expedite your recovery." After seeing the stress clear on Ian's features, her own demeanor softened. "You can do it. You clearly have talent—and your tenacity leads me to believe you're not in the habit of giving up."

Despite the doubt that was still gnawing at his gut, he gave Mercy a smile.

"Thanks doc, just be sure there's plenty of champagne on hand for the victory party." The doctor laughed softly.

"I'll see what I can find."

Ian left the Medbay feeling uncertain, but infinitely better physically than he had only hours ago. He tested his previously broken arm with a few cautious movements only to find that it felt completely healed.

 _That stuff really is amazing,_ he thought to himself. _I wonder what Mercy meant by 'unintended consequences?'_

Before he had time to dwell on it further, he had to avoid running head-first into Tracer, who was zipping around the narrow corridors of the train at her typical breakneck speed. Ian reacted just in time to catch her by her shoulders before she barreled into him completely.

"Woah there, speed racer." He said jokingly as he helped her restore her balance. "Is the _bullet train_ not going fast enough for you?" Tracer gave him a sly grin.

"I'm a time-hopping jet fighter, love. There's no such thing as 'fast enough.'" Noticing where Ian had come from, she added, "Did Angie patch you up?" Ian nodded, rubbing his newly healed arm.

"Good as new—but I'm all out of miracle visits. She told me I can only take one more round of biotics on this trip, which means—"

"You've only got one more shot at finishing the Fun House!" Tracer finished.

"Exactly." Ian sighed. "Now I just have to figure out how to do a whole car and a half-worth better in one run, or learn how to magically fix broken bones without biotics."

The young pilot looked at him for a moment before giving him a quick nod. "That settles it then, I'm going to help you pass." She grabbed him by the hand and began to pull him towards the next train car. Ian hesitated behind her.

"Thanks for the offer, Tracer—but isn't that, I don't know, cheating, or something?" Tracer gave him a look of exasperation.

"We're not cheating, silly! I might not be able to tell you what's going to be in the cars, but the rules don't say anything about me helping you practice your moves."

Ian thought about it for a moment before nodding slowly in agreement.

"That sounds straight enough to me. Alright, I'm in." Tracer gave him a wide smile.

"Great! Let's get going already!"

In a breath, Ian was being pulled along behind his potential new teammate towards some unknown destination. He couldn't help the smile that came bubbling up to his face.

/

When they finally stopped running, Ian found himself in a large, mostly empty car near the end of the train. From the presence of weights, mats, and heavy-looking equipment, he guessed it was some kind of gym, but the guns mounted on one of the far walls made him worry exactly how intense a gym it was.

"It's a storage car," Tracer said after noticing his confusion. "But we use it as a kind of training area." She walked out into the middle of the large space until she reached a large mat on the floor. She turned to face Ian again resting her hands on her hips. "So, where have you made it to so far?

Ian thought for a moment. "The farthest I've gotten is halfway through the second car." he admitted. Tracer arched her eyebrows.

"Not bad, newbie. Do you remember the obstacles you got through?" Ian did a quick inventory of all the obstacles that had earned him his impressive collection of injuries over the past few days before nodding.

"Yeah, there's the bean bag firing squad, the trick floor, the rope climb, and—"

"Steady on, love." Tracer giggled. "That's plenty to start." In a flash of blue, Tracer was at the far wall and back again, holding one of the guns from the wall. She held it up for him to see. "This is one of our practice beanbag guns—it's only got about half of the firepower of a real one, so it won't do much but bruise you." A mischievous smile came to her lips. "Let's start with your dodging."

Ian's eyes widened. "Wait, like, now? I just got out of the Med—" Ian lurched to the side at the last second to avoid the bean bag that went whizzing past where he once stood. He recovered quickly, anticipating the second shot and dodging it more easily than the first.

"Would you rather waste precious training time? I heard Winston saying he plans to drop you off in some remote village in Austria if you don't make it. It'd probably take you ages to get anywhere from there…"

 _Is she really egging me on?_ His brow furrowed with determination.

"Alright, now it is, then!" Tracer gave him a wink before resuming her onslaught.

Bean bags shot past Ian, hitting the metallic wall of the train with loud _clanging_ sounds, but he was able to anticipate and dodge most of the slow-moving projectiles. Just when he started to feel like he was getting the hang of it, Tracer disappeared in a flash of blue, and Ian grunted in pain as a bean bag his him square in his side.

From his right, Tracer giggled from on top of a workout machine.

"You didn't think I would make this easy, did you love?" Despite the pain in his side, he laughed.

"A soft-hearted _damsel_ like you? Never." Tracer's freckled cheeks reddened.

" _Damse_ l? Oh, I'm gonna make you pay for that one!"

It was hours before the Ian and Tracer finally collapsed, exhausted. For the second time today, he had earned a few fresh bruises, and the both of them were breathless and sweaty. Lying a few feet away from Ian, Tracer's chronal accelerator rose and fell with her chest.

"Not a bad start, love." Ian smiled.

"Not bad at all." He rolled over on his side to face her. "That ability of yours is really amazing—I've seen you in action on holo-vids before, but going up against it in person is something else."

Tracer's hand absently touched the device on her chest.

"It _is_ pretty wicked, isn't it?" When she rolled over to face Ian, he noticed a hint of sadness in her eyes. "It's got its downsides, though." She tapped her Chronal Accelerator. "Without this thing, I'd just be stuck floating through time."

Ian mentally kicked himself. _Of course it's not just an ability, you idiot—she lost her freedom in the process._

Most everyone familiar with Overwatch knew the story of Lena Oxton, the prodigy pilot who volunteered to test the UN's revolutionary teleporting jet, the Slipstream. A malfunction had caused the jet and Lena to disappear, leading most everyone to believe she'd died. That was, of course, until a spectral pilot began appearing and disappearing randomly all over the world. Winston himself lead the research team tasked with bringing Lena back, and it was nothing short of a miracle that the girl was saved from an eternity lost in time with the device now strapped to her body.

"Tracer, I'm sorry—I didn't mean to—"

Tracer waved off his apology.

"Don't be, I couldn't be more lucky. Without everything that happened, I wouldn't have been able to help half as many people as I have. I wouldn't have met Winston, or Reinhardt, or Mercy, or any of my friends." She looked at Ian and grinned. "And I wouldn't have gotten to meet you!"

Ian found himself smiling with her.

"Well, I'm grateful for that, at least." Having regained some of his stamina, Ian pulled himself to his feet and offered a hand to Tracer. She took it, nimbly popping up next to him. "So what's next?"

"Next we get some food and rest—we still have a few days until we reach the drop-off, and we won't have you ready to try again in a day anyway." Ian was about to argue that he needed all the practice he could get, but his stomach responded first with an embarrassingly loud growl. Tracer giggled. "See? Even your stomach agrees with me."

 _Betrayed by my own gut…_ Ian sighed, accepting that their training session was over.

"A hot meal does sound pretty good."

"And a hot shower." Tracer added, wiping her forehead on her sleeve. Ian nodded in vehement agreement. Tracer motioned towards the door. "Meet you in the mess hall in 15 minutes?" Ian grinned.

"I'll race you!"

It took Ian two seconds to learn that the word "race" was not one that Tracer took lightly—no sooner had he finished his sentence, there was a flash of blue, and the girl was gone. He stood there for a moment before walking towards the exit.

"Okay; in hindsight, that was a dumb idea."

/

Ian was unsurprised to find Tracer already seated at the slim table in the train's dining car when he entered. From the looks of it, she was already halfway through enjoying a particularly tasty-looking omelet, stuffed with mushrooms, peppers, and melted cheese coming from its sides. Across from her, Torbjörn was working on a plate piled high with sausage while he looked over a stack of blueprints. As the door slid shut behind him, Tracer looked up from her food.

"Beat you." She teased through a generous mouthful of food. Ian laughed as he made his way towards a spread of breakfast food.

"Destroyed me, more like. But I probably should have guessed that would happen before I challenged you." He grabbed a plate and scooped several helpings of eggs, bacon, toast, and hash browns onto his plate before taking a seat across from Tracer and next to Torbjörn. "So," he began, reaching across the table to pour himself a glass of orange juice. "What's our plan? I still have some energy in me for a little more training before bed."

"I admire your commitment, love," Tracer said in between bites of her dinner. "But no more training today. the last thing we want to do is send you back to the Medbay before you get to the Fun House again." Following Ian's suit, she poured herself a glass of orange juice and drained half of it immediately. "We have a few days until your 'deadline,' so we might as well take advantage of the time."

Ian had initially been confused when Brigitte told him that it would take their bullet train more than a week to reach Germany when even a normal train would make the trip in under a day—but the young engineer had assured him it was as fast as they could possibly go.

First, their track wasn't a straight-shot—the vast underground track serpentined all over Europe, with hidden stations in major cities and remote areas alike. Second, while the train was capable of traveling at speeds that would put any commercial train to shame, it was not the most inconspicuous way to travel.

"Even underground, moving too fast could give away our position." Brigitte had explained on one of their first days of travel. "We could get picked up on seismometers or other equipment of countries who might discover our tracks…and we might find an unwanted welcome party waiting for us at Eichenwalde."

The news had originally made Ian feel impatient, but now he found himself thankful for every extra second he had to prepare.

Remembering his untouched mountain of food, Ian took his first bite only to discover it tasted as delicious as it looked. "This stuff's great!" he said between eager forkfuls. "But why breakfast food? It has to be well past 10pm by now."

Tracer swallowed before responding. "Reinhardt loves the whole 'breakfast for dinner' thing, and since he's the best cook on the team, he gets to pick the menu."

The mental image of the gigantic knight wearing an apron while looming over a stove that popped into Ian's head almost made him choke on the piece of bacon he'd been chewing. Beside him, Torbjörn noisily cleared his throat.

"If yer going to spit up yer food, kindly try ta avoid getting any on my schematics." Ian gave the master mechanic a sheepish grin.

"Sorry about that, Mr. Lindholm." Torbjörn grunted.

"Just Torbjörn, if ya don't mind. My pa was Mr. Lindholm." Tracer craned her neck across the table.

"Watcha working on, Torby?"

"Some modifications Winston asked for." He answered, not looking up from his work. Tracer cocked her head to the side.

"Modifications? Modifications for what?"

"Modifications for none of yer business, that's what!" The small man hopped off of his chair, gathering his papers into a messy pile. He looked up at Ian. "You there, Evan, yer room is next ta mine, is it not?" Ian raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I think."

"And you'll be off ta bed soon, right?" Ian nodded slowly, confused.

"I guess so—" Torbjörn unceremoniously shoved the papers into Ian's hands.

"Excellent. I've business to attend to elsewhere. Take those to my room." Torbjörn turned on Tracer. "I'll need yer help too, girl. Meet me in the workroom." By the time Ian registered that he'd been conscripted into running Torbjörn's errands, the mechanic was halfway out the door.

"Alright—but my name's _Ian_!" he called after him.

As the door slid closed, he could hear Torbjörn's gruff voice call back "Close enough!"

Ian stared at the door, then back at Tracer.

"Well," he sighed, "I guess that settles our plans for this evening." Tracer giggled.

"It's just as well, you should be getting to bed soon anyway—we'll start training again first thing." Tracer blinked to the sink, deposited her plate onto a pile of other used dishes, then appeared at the doorway Ian entered through in a second flash of blue. "I'd best go and see what Torby needs." She gave Ian a wink. "See you tomorrow, _delivery boy_."

Ian grumbled at her nickname for him as she left, shoveling the last of his food into his mouth before placing his dish with Tracer's. It had reminded him of Val and her nickname for him back in the CIP.

 _I think I prefer 'soldier boy' to 'delivery boy'._ He thought as he cleared the scraps off of their plates. With her lower security clearance, they wouldn't have told her where Ian had been sent—he just hoped she wasn't too worried with him mysteriously disappearing. _Or worse, seeing my cover story and thinking I actually defected._

When he was done cleaning, he scooped up the pile of papers Torbjörn had given him once more and started towards his room.

The narrow corridors of the train had been dimmed as Ian weaved his way to his room in the lodging car, marking the otherwise indistinguishable shift from day to night. The faint light also seemed to remind his body how tired it was, and Ian could feel his eyelids grow heavy.

 _I shouldn't be surprised I'm exhausted_ , he thought to himself. _I've been getting my ass kicked all day._ Despite the pain he'd subjected himself to over the past several hours, a small part of him enjoyed the familiar ache in his muscles—he always found it made his bed seem softer and sleep easier to find.

He stopped at the door before his in the line of rooms of the lodging car, the name _T. Lindholm_ engraved into a metal placard on its front. Ian placed a hand on its cool steel surface and the door slid open soundlessly.

Inside, Ian found Torbjörn's room resembled a small workroom more than a bedroom. A small bed that looked quite untouched sat in the far-left corner. Torbjörn had apparently converted his dresser in to a kind of workbench, its top laden with gears, wrenches, and scraps of metal. In the center of the room, a small table held more tools, a few dishes and what looked like the barrel of an unfinished turret.

 _This guy sure loves his turrets._ Ian cleared off a section of the table and dropped the pile of blueprints. With his job done, Ian turned to leave.

He was almost out the door before he stopped himself.

 _You're a spy now, Ian_. The voice in his head reminded him. _You're supposed to be collecting intelligence, and you just dropped a pile of blueprints on a desk and walked away._

Truth be told, Ian was quite certain he was an awful spy. He was skilled at deception when he needed to get himself or his team out of a tight spot, but the whole idea of 'cloak and dagger' espionage had never appealed to him. Still, he had his orders, and he couldn't pass up such a golden opportunity to learn more about Overwatch's plans.

 _For everyone's benefit._ He repeated his mantra as he reentered Torbjörn's room and began to quickly thumb through the neat blue pages.

As Ian examined the blueprints' contents, his felt his eyes widen involuntarily.

 _Beanbag Barrage, Fire Ropes, Floor Falls—these are blueprints for the Fun House,_ he realized. _But not the one I've been training for._

From what Ian could gather from Torbjörn's scrawled notes and hastily added additions, these were modifications that redesigned the entire layout of the already daunting obstacle course. Thankfully, most of the changes were simply reordering existing obstacles, but there were several notes that seemed to indicate new, more difficult obstacles were added at certain points in the first two cars as well. To make matters worse, Ian found no mentions of what would be waiting for him in the final car of his challenge, if he made it that far.

Ian sank into the one chair at the table in disbelief. He knew it wasn't smart to linger in the engineer's room and blatantly go through his things, but right now he was more concerned with the wave of dread that had overcome him at the thought of mastering the fresh new hell that Torbjörn was building for him.

 _Winston's still trying to kick me to the curb in Austria_. He thought morosely. _He has Torbjörn making his impossible course even harder, and I still have no idea what's waiting for me in the third car… But why make it more difficult after I've failed five times? Unless…_

A light bulb lit up in Ian's head.

 _He's afraid I'm close to beating it._

It had been difficult for Ian to appreciate his progress in the course between his five failures, but he _had_ been getting closer, bit by bit. Every attempt had given him a better understanding of the course, and given him time to analyze each obstacle. And with Tracer's added help, he would be in a better position than ever to get to the final car.

Ian's apprehension began to melt away, iron determination taking its place.

 _You're gonna have to do better than a few extra traps to get rid of me, monkey._

Ian took one more look at the schematics, memorizing the differences he'd face in the first two cars before exiting Torbjörn's room and retreating to his own. He pulled off his clothes and got right into bed—he had a day full of training ahead of him, and Ian didn't intend to let a second go to waste.

/

The next day, Ian was already in the gym warming up when Tracer found him. She whistled in approval.

"Someone's awfully spritely today." Ian dropped from the pipe he'd been using as a pull-up bar and smiled at her.

"You're the one that said we shouldn't waste our training time, right?" he clapped his hands together. "So, what are we practicing today? Because I had a few ideas for'" Tracer tossed him a pair of padded gloves.

"I thought we might do some sparring today—to work on your reflexes."

Ian quirked an eyebrow. He wasn't sure what good sparring would do him in an obstacle course, but he decided to trust in the Overwatch veteran's judgement.

"Alright, but don't expect me to go easy on you—I owe your for those bruises you gave me yesterday."

Tracer smirked.

"As much as I'd like to see you try, love, you're not sparring me today." Ian's brow furrowed.

"Then who…"

He let the question die in this throat as a hulking body blocked the entire entryway to the car. Wearing workout clothes so big that they could have doubled as ship sails, Reinhardt let out a rumbling laugh as he strode into the gym.

"I am ready to see what you're made of, little one!" Ian felt the color drain from his face.

"Wait, you want me to spar _him_? He'd crush me with one hand." Tracer shrugged, smiling.

"Then I'd suggest avoiding his hands."

Ian frowned at her. _She's enjoying this a little too much._ Tracer laughed.

"Oh c'mon, I'm only joking! Besides, one of the first things they teach us in Overwatch is that any strength can be turned into a weakness," she winked at him. "You just need to find it."

"Don't be afraid, young Ian!" Reinhardt boomed as he stretched his massive arms. "I'll go easy on your tiny frame." Ian felt himself swallow hard.

 _Why does that not make me feel better?_

Realizing that there was no escaping his current predicament, Ian took a deep breath and slipped on his gloves. Reinhardt did the same, though his gloves were large enough that Ian could have used them as bean bag chairs.

Tracer, who had seated herself along the wall behind Reinhardt, called out to Ian.

"Alright, the rules are simple: Ian, you have to get past Reinhardt and grab these." She pulled off her orange-tinted goggles and held them high in the air. Ian peered past Reinhardt to give her a quizzical look.

"That's it?" Tracer nodded.

"That's it." Raising her other hand, the young pilot's eyes flicked between the two combatants excitedly. "Now, ready….set… _begin!_ "

Ian moved onto the balls of his feet, darting from side to side.

 _Okay,_ he thought, sizing up Reinhardt's huge frame. _He's big, which usually means slow. If I'm quick, I can probably get through between his legs and get to Tracer before he has time to turn around._

His strategy decided, Ian looked up at Reinhardt.

"Alright, here I come!" Ian gave his most convincing war cry as he charged straight toward his opponent. When Ian saw the larger man assume a wide fighting stance, he smiled.

 _Perfect. He thinks I'm going to try and fight him._ Ian kept up his charge until he was almost within striking distance before dropping down into a slide. With the momentum he'd built up during his charge, Reinhardt wouldn't have any time to catch him before—

Ian felt himself jerk backwards as one of Reinhardt's gloved hands snatched Ian's arm with unbelievable speed and hurled him back onto the mat. As he slowly got to his feet, Reinhardt gave a mirthful laugh.

"You thought old Reinhardt would be slow did you?" the older man jabbed the air in front of him with quick, nimble punches. "You are not the first person to make such a grave mistake!"

Ian shook off his daze and raised his gloves once more.

"You're definitely faster than I thought." Reinhardt smiled, throwing a few flexes in for good measure.

"Faster than you thought? I am lightning given form, boy! Reinhardt has no equal in strength or speed! Ha ha!"

Ian ignored his boasting and scanned the room for another way past. Around them, where was an immense rack of weights, the wall of weapons Tracer had used during their first training session, and the outcropping pipes he'd used as pull-up bars earlier. The pipes caught his attention.

 _If I can't go under, maybe I can go over him._

Wasting no time, Ian took off towards the pipes to his left. The way the pipes jutted out from the wall made a sort of ascending monkey bars, with each pipe slightly higher than the last. So when Ian leapt to the first pipe, he used his momentum to swing himself towards the next pipe, and then the next, and the next. In a matter of seconds, Ian was several feet above Reinhardt.

 _I can't stop now,_ Ian thought as he saw Reinhardt begin to notice that Ian had moved. _I just have to swing over him, roll out of the fall, and I'll be home free!_

But just before Ian was about to launch himself off of the pipe towards his prize, he saw Reinhardt look up, bend his knees, and launch himself upward directly towards him. Ian barely had time to curse before Reinhardt had pulled him from the pipe and brought him back down to the floor with a resounding _thud_.

Ian felt the wind get knocked out of him when he hit the mat. He rolled onto his back, struggling to regain his breath. Reinhardt pounded his gloves together.

"Clever, but still you underestimate the awesome force that is Reinhardt!" again, Reinhardt struck a pose, seemingly more for himself than anyone else in the room. Ian felt himself getting annoyed.

 _I knew that Reinhardt was a little self-confident, but this ego is…wait._ Ian heard Tracer's words echo in his head:

 _Any strength can be turned into a weakness._

 _I've been focusing on finding a weak point, but it's been staring me in the face this whole time!_ Ian scanned the room, his mind churning. His eyes came to rest on the rack of weights, and Ian smiled. Getting to his feet again, he shook out his gloves.

"You're definitely strong, Reinhardt, I haven't been thrown around like this since basic training." Reinhardt laughed.

"Thank you, my friend—but flattery won't get you past me!" Ian grinned.

 _That's what you think._

"You might be strong, but I know a place that even you can't get to!" For a third time, Ian ran at the knight, but this time he veered to his right, diving underneath the rack of weights. When he was hidden from sight, he yelled out "I'll have those googles in a minute!"

 _That ought to get his attention, at least._

To Ian's relief, he heard Reinhardt turn towards the weights.

"Oh, is that so, little one? I might not know what you're planning, but I can promise you one thing…" Ian saw Reinhardt's gloved hands snake through the handholds in the rack.

"You…"

Ian saw the weights above him rattle.

"Can't…"

Around him, Ian saw the bottom of the rack slowly begin to lift off of the ground."

"Hide…"

Ian watched in amazement as the weights lifted into the air.

"From… _Reinhardt!_ " Reinhardt grunted in triumph as he finally hoisted the entire rack above his head…only to find no one underneath.

"Wasn't trying to hide from you." Behind the massive man, Ian was smiling, Tracer's goggles twirling around his finger. "Just trying to distract you."

In that moment, the look of bewilderment on Reinhardt's face was the most satisfying thing Ian had ever seen.

"But… How did you…"

"I figured you wouldn't pass up the opportunity to show off that 'awesome power' of yours." Ian said, walking over to him. "I just slipped out from under the weights while you had your hands full and grabbed the goggles."

Despite what Ian estimated to be close to a ton held above his head, Reinhardt's look of confusion turned into a full-throated laugh as though they'd been joking over a beer.

"Ahh, very clever indeed, Master Grey. Using Reinhardt's strength against him! Ha!" With a loud series of clangs, the knight dropped the rack to the ground before peeling off his gloves. "I am most impressed." Ian beamed at the praise. "Now, if you will excuse me," Ian saw Reinhardt's smile turn into a grimace. "I have to go and ice my back."

As Reinhardt hobbled out of the room, Tracer appeared at Ian's side, plucking her goggles from his finger. When she noticed Ian's look of concern, she put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"Don't worry about him, love. He just goes a bit overboard sometimes is all." Her eyes flashed with excitement as she put on her goggles. "Besides, that was _amazing!_ Nobody gets past Reinhardt that fast!"

"I was just listening to what you told me!" Ian said excitedly. "I'm just lucky that it worked." Tracer gave him a playful jab to the arm.

"It was a little more thank luck, love—using the weights as a distraction was brilliant. I would never have thought of that."

Ian smile grew. He hadn't felt this giddy since passing his entrance exam into the CIP.

But his celebration was short-lived. the storage car's door opened, and Winston strode through on all fours. Something about the expression on his face made Ian feel like his day was about to take an unpleasant turn.

The gorilla made his way over to them, Giving Tracer a friendly smile.

"Lena. Sergeant. What are you two up to in here? I passed Reinhardt in the halls looking a little worse for wear."

"Hey Winston!" Tracer greeted cheerily. "We were just helping Ian here practice for his next go at the Fun House." Winston turned to face Ian, his smile never changing.

"Is that so?" Ian's uneasiness grew.

 _I_ _definitely_ _don't like that smile._

"Well, I certainly hope it's paid off." Winston took his glasses off and began to clean them. "Athena's told me that we're running a bit ahead of schedule—which means that if you're still planning on trying the course again Sergeant, you'll have to make final your attempt a little earlier than anticipated."

Ian's eyes narrowed.

"How much earlier, exactly?" For a split second, Ian could have sworn Winston's innocent smile turned to a smirk.

"Tomorrow."

" _Tomorrow?!"_ Ian repeated, dumbstruck.

"Winston, that's a little short notice, don't you think?" Tracer added, clearly surprised by the news as well.

"Unfortunately, it's out of my hands, Lena. We have a schedule to keep." He turned to look Ian dead in the face. "If the Sergeant here is ready, he's ready. And if he isn't…" He chuckled. "I've heard Austria is beautiful this time of year." Tracer frowned, stamping her foot emphatically on the floor.

"You can't do that, Winston! It's totally unfair to—"

"That was the agreement we made, Lena." The gorilla cut her off with a finality that said the issue was settled. "Another few days of training won't change the outcome if the Sergeant here doesn't have what it takes." He turned to go, looking back over his shoulder at Ian as he went. "I'd suggest getting a good night's sleep, Sergeant. You're going to need it."

When the door slid shut behind him, Tracer stuck her tongue out at Winston.

"Ugh! I love the big guy to death, but he can be so… _so_ …"

 _Underhanded?_ Ian almost said aloud, but thought better of it. Instead, he went with a more even-handed approach.

"Protective?" Tracer looked at Ian quizzically.

"You got _protective_ from that whole exchange? What are you on about?" Ian sighed.

"It's pretty clear that Winston still doesn't trust me yet, I think he's just doing what he thinks is best for all of you, which I can understand." Tracer folder her arms and slumped her shoulders dismissively.

"It still doesn't make it fair for you though, does it? I had another two day's worth of training planned to get you ready…"

Despite his own doubts about his readiness, he gave Tracer his most confident grin.

"Don't worry, I'll be ready come tomorrow. You can't get rid of me that easily." Tracer didn't seem totally convinced, but she returned his smile all the same.

"Alright, I believe you." She motioned towards the door. "I'm going to go see if I can find out more about this schedule change—I'll let you know if I find anything out." As she started towards the exit, she turned back to add, "You'd better not lose! I was just starting to get used to you."

Ian smiled until Tracer had left the car before letting out a deep sigh.

 _What are you going to do now, Ian?_

It was only then that he began to feel his own exhaustion pulling at his eyelids.

 _I know he was being an asshole, but maybe Winston was right._ Ian thought as he made his exit from the storage car. _A quick dinner and a good night's rest might be the best thing for me right now._

It was still early, and the train's ambient lighting hadn't switched over yet, So when Ian entered the dining car, he found Brigitte still cooking dinner for the night. And by the look of distress on her face, cooking was not her forte.

"Hey Brigitte," Ian greeted as he entered. "Cooking duty tonight?"

Brigitte took a skillet of what Ian thought might have at one point been meat from the stovetop and tried in vain to stop it from smoking.

"Oh! Hello, Sergeant. Master Wilhelm was supposed to prepare dinner tonight, but when he returned to his room he asked if I could take over instead." She gave her skillet a look, grimaced, and scraped it unceremoniously into the garbage.

"I think there might be some leftovers from yesterday in the fridge?" Ian offered helpfully.

The relief on Brigitte's face was immediate.

"Thank goodness."

She opened the fridge and began to pull out containers of leftover eggs, sausage, and bacon.

"Master Wilhelm told me you were quite resourceful during your sparring match." Said Brigitte, visibly more comfortable than before. Ian waved her off as he reached into the container of bacon and grabbed a few strips.

"It was nothing, really. It was mostly Tracer's advice that saved my skin." Brigitte smiled.

"It must have been good advice to stop Master Wilhelm."

"She told me to try and turn his strength into a weakness," Ian replied as he tore off a piece of bacon. "And Reinhardt has _plenty_ of strength."

"That's good advice for any opponent, I think." Brigitte have Ian a thoughtful stare before continuing. "Take Winston, for example. He's a genius and master tactician with strength beyond any normal human, but get him angry, and he loses all of that tactical thinking in exchange for brute force." She shook her head. "Ah, but I'm just rambling on. If you'll excuse me, Sergeant, I'm going to see if I can manage reheating these leftovers without causing a fire hazard."

Ian opened his mouth to respond, but the armorer-turned-cook had already immersed herself in her task. Taking the hint, Ian muttered his goodbye and left for his room.

Ian went over his short, strange exchange with Brigitte as he walked back to his room and got ready for bed, but by the time he had finally slipped beneath his sheets, he was still as confused as he'd been when he started.

 _Why would she bring up Winston?_ He thought. _It was an oddly specific example for such a light conversation, and she ended it so quickly afterward…_

Ian was sure he could lie awake for hours going through the conversation's possible meanings, but he knew that more pressing concerns waited for him in the morning.

 _What Brigitte meant won't matter at all if I don't beat this damn course tomorrow._

So with that, Ian closed his eyes and forced himself to quiet his mind and drift off to sleep.

/

Despite his best efforts, Ian had found it difficult to sleep soundly through the night, so when he found himself clad in a training jumpsuit standing outside the massive metal doors of the Fun House, Ian felt a little more skittish than he wanted to.

Tracer, Reinhardt, and Mercy had all gathered in the room to see him off before his final run.

Mercy had reminded him several times to stretch, While Reinhardt simply gave him a reassuring clap on the back that nearly took the wind out of him again. Tracer had approached him last, giving him one of her full grins.

"You'll do great." she'd said.

Ian had his doubts.

Still, confident or no, he had a course to finish, or his mission would come to an unsuccessful end. So when Athena's elegant voice came onto the loudspeaker, he was prepared.

"Sergeant Grey, are you ready for your sixth attempt at the Overwatch Qualifying Course?" He nodded.

"I am."

"I must remind you that due to the proximity of our destination, and Dr. Zeigler's own analysis of your biotic threshold, that this will be your last attempt. Do you understand?" Ian nodded again.

"I do."

"Very well. Your run will begin in thirty seconds."

Ian flexed his muscles as he counted down the seconds in his head. He recounted every difference he'd noted in Torbjörn's schematics, every successful maneuver he'd used in his previous attempts. When he reached five, Athena's voice reentered the room.

"Five. Four. Three. Two. One."

The metal doors creaked open.

"Begin."

Ian was off, pushing all thoughts of doubt or fear from his mind. He sprinted through the doorway and into his final run of the Fun House.

In stark contrast to the warmly-lit interior of the rest of the train, the Fun House cars were lit exclusively with black lights, casting Ian and everything around him in a negative glow. He stepped out onto a raised metal walkway spanning almost the entire width of the car, with high, dark walks on either side.

Knowing what to expect first, Ian ran low, ducking as he went. Seconds later, he felt the volley of neon-green bean bag bullets fly just over his head. As soon as they had passed, he got a running start into a jump as a second volley shot out near the floor where his legs had been.

 _One down._ He thought as he continued down the walkway.

He soon reached a wall that forced him to take a sharp right, and directly around the corner the walkway disappeared and cold, shallow water took its place. Ian had anticipated this too, and jumped deftly to the monkey bars that hung directly above him.

Remembering Torbjörn's new schematics, he took the bars two at a time to avoid detachable decoys that had been placed on a few of the rungs. Ian smiled when he landed on the other side of the obstacle without incident.

 _So far so good…_

With the combined knowledge of Ian's previous runs and Torbjörn's updated plans, Ian completed the next few obstacles without incident, until he finally reached the rope dangling in front of him that signified the end of the first car. About fifteen feet up near the roof of the car, the doorway to car number two sat on an outcropping platform.

 _I've got to get up this thing fast_ , Ian thought as he shook out his hands.

Jumping as high as he could onto the rope, Ian began his ascent, hauling himself up hand over hand and using his legs as an anchor. When he was about halfway, Ian looked down to see that the base of the rope had caught fire.

Under normal circumstances this would have unnerved him, but again, Ian's earlier spy work had prepared him.

Using all of his strength, he doubled his climbing speed, all the while keeping an eye on the fire climbing quickly behind him. Just as the fire was closing in on his feet, Ian's hands felt the lip of the platform. He dragged himself onto its cold surface just as the last of the rope was eaten by the flames. He allowed himself a second to breathe.

 _I guess you only get one shot at that one._ He thought as he looked down at the now impossibly high jump between him and the ground. He shook the thought from his head. _I can't afford to look back now._ Ian rose to his feet and pushed through the doorway to the second car.

/

Similar to the other times he'd made it to the second car, Ian was immediately greeted with a small laser pistol sitting on a mount at the start of the room. He picked it up, inspected it for a brief moment, and switched it to "on." In front of him, the elevated walkway was now narrower, this time with many twists and turns in his way, making seeing any more than 10 feet ahead of him impossible.

Where the first car had tested Ian's physical capabilities, the second car was all about his reflexes and marksmanship. He advanced town the walkway, his eyes darting from left to right, searching for any sign of movement. After only a few steps, a target mech sprung out from around a corner, a bean bag gun mounted at its side.

Ian dove behind a corner as the bean bag hit the wall behind him with a loud _thud_. He was suddenly very thankful for Tracer's crash-course on dodging during their first training session. Darting out from his cover, he lined his gun up with the sensor on the mech and fired, causing the machine to power down.

Advancing quickly down the walkway, Ian kept his gun up at all times, shooting at the occasional target that sprang into his way. At one point, Ian was so focused on the targets that he nearly forgot about the false floor the Torbjörn had placed just steps ahead of him. He had to throw himself onto his back to avoid an oncoming bean bag and not risk falling through the floor trap. Once he'd successfully dispatched the mech in front of him, he nimbly jumped over the trick panel before continuing.

 _If Winston's watching right now, I bet he's seething._ He thought, reveling in the idea of the giant ape watching all of his traps fail.

Before Ian knew it, Ian had past his previous farthest point in the course. In front of him, he could make out a metal door standing at the end of a long straightaway. He allowed himself a moment of optimism before looking warily at the long, straight corridor.

 _It's too simple._ He thought. _Something's not right._

Unlike the rest of the car, the final stretch had no corners and no cover to speak of, with nothing but open air on each side.

 _The perfect place for an ambush._

He could try to run right through it, but the odds of him being taken down in the attempt were too great.

But what were his other options?

Ian looked around the walkway for anything he could use as cover, but it wasn't until he peered over the side of the walkway into the 15 foot drop that something finally clicked. It was risky, but it was his only plan.

Ian held his gun between his teeth and swung himself over the edge of the walkway.

On the straightaway, the walkway became narrow enough that Ian could span the distance with his arms, so he grabbed hold of either side of the walkway underneath and began to shimmy himself forward. One arm after the other, he advanced until he was about a quarter of the way across.

Then came a sound like hail on a metal roof.

Above him, Ian could hear a torrent of bean bag bullets rain from every direction. When he risked a peek from his cover, he saw no less than 20 target mechs protruding from the roof laying down constant fire directly above him.

Taking his gun out of his mouth with his left hand, he let himself swing briefly out from cover by one hand and shot at his mechanical assailants. Due to the awkward motion of his swing, he wasn't as accurate as he'd normally be, but Ian still managed to shut down several of the mechs on his first go.

Not missing a beat, he placed the gun back in his mouth briefly, switched hands, and repeated the process on the other side.

It took him 4 swings on each side, and one heart-stopping moment where a bean bag grazed his fingers hand on the walkway, but Ian managed to land his shots.

Once the car was silent again, Ian pulled himself back onto the walkway and made his way to exit of the second car.

He would have felt proud if not for the feeling of tense apprehension sitting heavy in his gut.

Beyond this point, he had no idea what to expect. Without Torbjörn's schematics, and having never made it this far, Ian was going in totally blind.

It wasn't until he mustered up the courage to push through the door into the final room that he realized how blind he really was.

Instead of the eerie black lighting of the previous two cars, the third car of the Fun House was pitch-black. When the metal door slid shut behind him, the last meagre light from the previous car disappeared too. As Ian tried to gauge his surroundings, a gruff, familiar voice echoed through the dark car.

"Sergeant Grey, I'm impressed you've made it this far."

Ian had to shield his eyes as flood lights on the ceiling flashed to life and filled the car with light. When his vision returned, Ian saw the car was almost completely empty…empty except for Winston's hulking frame standing square at its center. He gave Ian a dangerous smile.

"But this is as far as you go."

 _No wonder there weren't any schematics for this car,_ Ian thought ruefully. _Winston_ _is_ _the obstacle._

Ian made his way towards the center of the room.

"So this is the final test, huh? What do I have to do, fight you with nothing but this fake pistol?"

"Fight me? No, that wouldn't be fair to someone of your… skill level. You just have to collect your badge." Winston pointed towards a small badge with the Overwatch symbol emblazoned on its front that currently rested around his neck.

Ian felt his heart drop into his stomach.

 _Shit._

"I'm guessing you won't just toss it over to me if I ask nicely?" Winston's smirk grew wider.

"That's correct. Oh, and one more thing;" Ian watched as a massive countdown clock projected onto far wall. "You'll have to retrieve it in ten minutes, I'm afraid."

Ian looked at the clock and back at Winston in utter disbelief. Managing to get a tiny badge off of a one-ton gorilla who hated his guts would have been hard enough, but to manage it in ten minutes?

Winston cocked his head to the side.

"No objections? Wonderful. Let's begin." Behind him, the clock began its countdown from 10, the seconds ebbing away.

Ian simmered at the smug look on the gorilla's face.

 _He was planning on this from the beginning. Regardless of how I did on his obstacles, he was always just going to stop me himself._ He felt his nerves give way to anger. Right then, he would have loved nothing more than to punch Winston right in his…

 _Wait…_

Ian's mind shot back to his training with Tracer and Reinhardt, then to his strange conversation with Brigitte the night before, and suddenly it all made sense.

 _All of that was for this exact fight. I just have to use what I learned._

"Alright, have it your way."

Ian ran full tilt towards the intimidating gorilla, quickly closing the distance between them. He threw a punch at one of Winston's armored arms, and immediately felt the jolt of the recoil reverberate up his arm.

For how much of a reaction he got, Ian might as well have punched a brick wall. Winston shook his head, clearly unfazed by the hit.

"If you were trying to fight this badge away from me, you're off to a bad start, Sergeant."

"Oh yeah?" Ian asked, "Then how about this?" Ian took the laser pistol still in his left hand and threw it as hard as he could at Winston's head. The butt of the gun caught him straight in the nose, causing him to lurch backward, growling in surprise.

Ian seized his advantage, grabbing hold of Winston's armor and pulling himself up onto his back. As the ape recovered, Ian tried to fumble with the thin rope that held the badge. Winston, however, was quick to realize what was going on.

"I don't think so!" He said as one of his huge hands reached back and dragged Ian off like he weighed nothing before tossing him roughly to the ground. The gorilla gave a low, rumbling laugh. "You'll have to do better than that." He looked back at the clock. "And now in six minutes, no less."

Despite Winston's taunting, Ian rose with a smile on his face. He raised his hand, waving a pair of square-rimmed glasses in the air.

"Are you sure you won't need these to see, big guy?" Ian noticed Winston's entire body stiffen at the realization that he had lost his glasses.

"Give those back to me. _Now_!" Winston growled, his laughter gone.

 _Looks like these glasses hit a nerve._ Ian thought. _Good._

"Afraid I can't do that, monkey." Ian said with all the obnoxious bravado he could muster. "I'd be happy to trade you for them, or…" Ian took the glasses in both hands. "…Maybe I should just break them."

Ian had expected to antagonize Winston more before he made a move, but Winston's reaction to his threat of destroying the glasses was so immediate it startled him.

It was like a flip had been switched, and Winston was no longer the primate scientist, but some kind of wild animal. The way he moved was different, his eyes seemed to gloss over, and Ian noticed for the first time just how big his fangs were.

For a split second, Ian forgot where he was and felt real, unfiltered fear. He began to move, but Winston was already on him, grabbing him around the waist with both hands and snarling in his face.

" _GIVE THEM TO ME!"_ Ian tried his best to look tough and glared directly into Winston's eyes.

"Eat shit."

Winston roared in anger, raised Ian over his head, and sent him rocketing towards the wall.

Ian remembered briefly questioning his own sanity before colliding hard with the unforgiving metal and feeling the world go out from under him.

/

The next time Ian opened his eyes, he found himself lying in the train's medbay, which felt like a second home at this point, with a pair of big brown eyes staring down at him. Tracer waved her hand in front of his eyes.

"Hey, there he is!" Ian slowly propped himself up on his elbows. His head was killing him. Tracer gave him a timid smile. "Welcome back to the land of the living."

"I kind of wish I wasn't right now." Ian groaned, rubbing his pounding head.

"Yeah, can't say I blame you. Angie said you had a pretty nasty concussion." Before Ian could voice his concern, she added. "Don't worry, she's got you on a steady drip of biotics. She says you'll be fine."

Ian fell back onto his pillow. He sure didn't feel fine, but that was only partly due to the splitting pain in his head. He looked hesitantly over at Tracer.

"So…what happened? I kind of go fuzzy after I took Winston's glasses." The look on Tracer's face after he asked made him wish he hadn't.

"Well, you were doing great. Then you took the big guy's glasses, and…well…" she brushed a stray lock of hair out of her face. "You sort of just stood there. And Winston might have thrown you against the wall and…knocked you out."

Ian felt his face flush. Had he really failed?

All he could manage in response was a quiet "Oh." Tracer shrugged.

"Yeah… Sorry, I guess what I'm trying to say is," she put a hand on his chest in what Ian thought was an act of sympathy.

That was, until she moved it, revealing a small, shining badge resting in its place. Tracer's sorry expression melted into a full toothy smile.

"Welcome to the team, love."

Ian looked at the badge, absolutely stunned.

"But, I thought you said Winston knocked me out!" Tracer nodded giddily.

"He did, but when we went to get you, we found the badge in your hand with the glasses!" she beamed. "We watched the tape back, and it looks like you grabbed it from him while he had you."

Ian nodded slowly, his muddled brain slowly feeding him back his memories of the event, badge and all.

"So, you're telling me I passed?!" Tracer laughed.

"Yes! Keep up, will you?" Despite his aches and pains, Ian smiled wide, relief, pride, and excitement flooding his senses all at once.

"That's amazing!" he exclaimed sitting up fully. He looked at Tracer. "I have you and Brigitte to thank for that—without your help, I don't think I would have made it." She smiled.

"Once we figured out that Winston wasn't going to give you the exam fair and square, we all decided to help you out. We're short-handed enough as it is without the big guy's paranoia running off new recruits."

"Wait, did you say 'we all'?" Ian asked. Tracer only rolled her eyes.

"Well of course, silly! Everyone on board wanted to help." She quirked an eyebrow. "Did you really think _Torbjörn_ of all people would just happen to let you carry the schematics to the new Fun House unattended?"

 _I really suck at this spy stuff._

Ian smiled sheepishly. "I guess not. I'll have to thank everybody for helping me out."

"Sure! Just maybe not when Winston is around." Tracer replied, laughing nervously. "I really do think he's sorry for tossing you around like that, but I wouldn't let him know we all were undermining him just yet."

Ian laughed along with her, still riding his feelings of total elation.

"Yeah, good point." He picked up the badge on his chest and watched the Overwatch symbol glint in the overhead lights. Tracer rose from her chair by the side of the bed.

"You should try to get some rest. We'll be getting to Eichenwalde soon, and we'll need our newest recruit ready for action!" She winked at him as she turned to leave. Ian watched her go, but as she approached the door, a question popped into his head.

"Tracer," he called out. "before you go, I have a question." Tracer turned around to lean in the doorway.

"Sure love, what's on your mind?" Ian thought for a moment before continuing.

"Well, I was just thinking—If I hadn't passed, Winston was going to drop me off in some Austrian village, right?" Tracer nodded.

"Right. Why do you ask?"

"Well, if I had been dropped off, why wasn't he worried about me running to some local authority and telling people where we were headed?"

"Oh, that." Tracer answered as though it was the simplest question in the world. "We would have just had to wipe your memories, is all."

"What?" he asked bewildered. "How do you manage that?" Tracer shrugged nonchalantly.

"I think Winston usually shocks people with his Tesla cannon until they don't remember how to count or something."

Tracer left Ian in the medbay after that, and as Ian sat in his bed, thinking about Winston literally electrocuting the brains out of him, he soon had to rush to the bathroom as all of his previous feelings of relief, pride, and excitement came back up and out into the toilet.

 _WOW that was a long one. Consider it a small gift for making you all wait so long. As always, feel free to leave a review, and I'll see you all next chapter!_


	7. Interlude: Monsters

_Hello again, everybody! On to the next interlude. This is one of the chapters I thought of before I started writing this story, and given the most recent animated short, it seems especially appropriate. I hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as I did dreaming it up!_

 _Let's get started…_

 **Interlude: Monster**

Mei-Ling Zhou wiped beads of sweat off her forehead as she hiked through the thicket of Germany's Black Forest. Despite what most people would consider to be a temperate summer, Mei's long-standing affinity for the cold made days like this seem sweltering, even in her lightest tank top and shorts.

"What does a girl have to do for one tiny blizzard in the summer?" She huffed to herself, readjusting the heavy winter coat she had tied around her waist. At the word 'blizzard,' the tiny cryo-drone floating at her side perked up, staring intently at her with its luminous blue eyes. Mei giggled. "Sorry Snowball, no blizzard. I didn't mean to get you excited." Snowball let out a dejected beeping noise, clearly disappointed.

Mei had been on her way to Gibraltar to join any other members of Overwatch that might have answered their summons when Winston had contacted her through her communicator. Apparently, there'd been a breach of the old Watchpoint's security, meaning there could be too much unwanted attention for the headquarters of a supposedly "secret" organization. So, the simian scientist had asked her to investigate the ruined town of Eichenwalde as a possible base of operations.

Mei had happily accepted and changed course for Germany. After making her way from Stuttgart, the climatologist had traveled through the Black Forest to arrive at her final destination. Finally, after three days of thorough inspection, she'd concluded that Eichenwalde was secure—and thankfully very abandoned.

 _Rumors that the town is haunted might have something to do with that_. She thought to herself, smiling. The story she'd heard several times since coming to Germany was that a monster lurked in the woods by the abandoned town, using it as a hunting ground for its victims. In Stuttgart, the story had been more specific—about a string of mysterious disappearances in the forest, most recently two American hunters who had gone missing in the forest a few days prior.

Mei had trekked through enough wilderness around the world to not put much stock in stories of monsters terrorizing townspeople, but the local legend still made her curious. So, she had done the only sensible thing a scientist would do; studied the entire ecology of Germany's wilderness and committed it to memory. She had been absently cycling through a list of possible culprits since she had started on her hike that morning.

 _There hasn't been a bear or wolf in Germany in 170 years, though maybe one found its way into the forest?_ She guessed as she traversed a small stream. _It's certainly possible one came through the mountains…_ She felt Snowball nudge her shoulder, but waved him off.

 _Or maybe it's a large wild boar…_ Snowball nudged her again, harder this time. Mei ignored him again.

 _I suppose it could be …ow!_ Mei flailed her arms to keep her balance as her cryo-drone companion all but knocked her over. Mei wheeled around, fixing her glasses in agitation.

"Snowball! What's gotten into you?" The small drone motioned in front of them, and when Mei finally looked up, she understood why.

The forest ahead of them had been torn apart, with bark ripped clean off the trees and deep cuts that went halfway through their thick trunks. Some trees were so badly damaged that only splintered stumps remained. Mei felt a pang of uneasiness shoot through her.

"I don't think a boar did this, Snowball…" She slowly approached the nearest tree and traced one of the deep cuts in its trunk with her finger. "I don't know _any_ animal capable of something like this."

She made her way deeper past the fallen trees, realizing with growing astonishment just how much damage had been done. Whatever had caused all this destruction had created a clearing of mangled forest almost 20 feet across. Splinters covered the ground, and other trees on the edge of the wreckage had deep gashes similar to the one she'd seen earlier.

 _This is strange,_ She thought. _Some of these trees are several feet in diameter, but they've been taken down like they were nothing._ She knelt down and sifted through the woodchips. _No sawdust either. People didn't do this—so what did?_

She glanced over her shoulder at Snowball, who was floating behind her, looking out into the surrounding forest.

"What is it Snowball? Do you see something?" When her drone didn't respond, Mei felt a knot of nervousness form in her stomach. It was only then that she realized how quiet the clearing was.

 _I haven't heard a single animal since we found this clearing… It's almost like the wildlife is avoiding this place._ She rose to her feet, her hand moving to the cryogun holstered at her side.

"Snowball, let's get out of here. This place is giving me the creeps." Again, the drone didn't respond. Mei held out her hand to tap him. "…Snowball?"

Mei screamed when a sudden frantic rustling sound came from behind her. She reflexively pulled the trigger on her cryogun, encasing herself in a shimmering block of protective ice. She quickly discovered that without her heavy coat to shield her skin, her icy defense was incredibly painful. Outside, Snowball had finally turned around, roused either by Mei's scream, or the sudden drop in the surrounding temperature. Mei watched the drone's distorted visage through the ice float towards her.

 _Get out of here, Snowball!_ She screamed desperately in her mind. _Go get help, or save yourself, or—float right past me?_

Much to her surprise, her drone didn't seem anxious at all. In fact, he seemed more curious that anything else—stopping for a moment to ponder Mei's ice block before moving past her towards the source of the sound.

 _What is it behind me? Snowball doesn't seem frightened…should I risk letting my guard down?_

Either way, Mei knew her time was running out—she would eventually run out of air, and without her coat, it wouldn't be long before she had frostbite to contend with. Deciding to take her chances, she steeled herself.

 _Well, here goes nothing._ Her finger came down on the rapid-thaw button on the side of her cryogun, and the casing of ice around her burst open with a _pop!_

As soon as she was free, Mei whirled around, pointing her cryogun ahead of her with her eyes squeezed shut.

"Freeze! Don't come any closer you...you…" she cracked an eye, only to see Snowball staring back at her expectantly. "Snowball?" she lowered her gun slowly, confused. "But what made the noise behind me?"

Snowball motioned towards the ground to a small pile of leaves and splintered wood. As Mei looked down, it moved, making the same rustling sound from before. Shen knelt down and gingerly swept the debris away until she discovered the source of the commotion.

A small bird had been trapped underneath the pile, pinned down too much to free itself. It had been a miracle Mei hadn't stepped on it by accident when she entered. She gently picked up the bird, holding it carefully in her hands.

"It's just a little bird." She heard Snowball's robotic laughter above her. Her cheeks turned a shade of pink in embarrassment. "Oh shush, Snowball." She turned her attention back to the bird, who was trying to take to the air, but couldn't seem to move its left wing. "Poor little guy, did you break your wing?" She went to feel it lightly for signs of a fracture, which caused the small creature to flail wildly. She immediately recoiled her hand. "Sorry! Sorry, sorry, I'm sorry!"

The bird looked up at her, clearly afraid. Its small chest rose and fell rapidly. Mei gave it her warmest smile.

"It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you—I promise." When the bird's frantic breathing began to slow down slightly, Mei took it as a sign that her message had gotten across. "There you go, little guy." Mei reached her free hand back into the rucksack strapped to her back and felt around until she found what she was looking for.

 _This is the last of my biotic gel._ Mei thought as she shook the small, squishy packet in her hand. _But I think you need it more than I do._

Tearing the packet open with her teeth, she carefully squeezed the bottom of the packet until a small bead of bright yellow gel oozed from its opening. The packet had a dose potent enough to mend a full-grown man's arm, so she had to be sure she used only as much as she needed on the tiny animal. The bird watched her warily as she gingerly applied the gel to its wing, but to Mei's relief, it didn't try to escape like before. She smiled as she spread the gel around with the tip of her finger.

 _It won't be long now, little bird._

Sure enough, the gel began to work in a matter of seconds, giving off a faint yellow glow as the biotics reacted to the bird's damaged bones and tissue. With a small _pop_ , the treatment was over as quickly as it began. The bird sat still for a moment before giving its wing a cautious flap, then another, then another. Then it leapt from Mei's hand and took to the air, chirping happily.

Mei giggled as the bird soared around the clearing before landing on a nearby branch.

"I'm glad you're feeling better, Mr. Bird!" The bird cocked its head to the side, staring at her from its perch. It gave her a chirp in reply before taking off into the surrounding trees.

Mei waved after it, smiling. She looked upwards at the sky, noticing that the bright blue had begun to change to a light pink color.

"It's getting late, Snowball. We should head back, or we'll be stuck out here when the sun goes down." The drone beeped in agreement, floating back the way they had come. Mei started after her robotic companion, feeling quite accomplished. She had almost forgotten about the mystery of the destroyed clearing until she reached the edge of the clearing.

Mei had a sudden wave of chills run down her back, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She grabbed her cryogun again and turned around slowly. The waning sunlight made looking into the surrounding forest difficult, but she strained her eyes nonetheless, scanning the opposite side of the clearing. After a few tense minutes, she holstered her gun. She turned back and jogged to catch up to Snowball, looking back over her shoulder at the clearing as she went.

In that moment, she could have sworn she was being watched.

/

Mei nursed a tall, frothy stein of beer, enjoying the feeling it gave her going down. After three days of camping out in Eichenwalde, Mei had decided to travel to an inn in the remote town of Bad Wildbad for a soft bed to sleep in.

Her decision, as she had insisted to herself her entire trek there, had nothing to do with the horrifying monster that _definitely_ didn't exist.

 _There has to be a scientific explanation_. She thought, taking another sip of her beer. _I just can't think of it yet._

Mei had been so enveloped in her own thoughts that she nearly spilled her stein when a something touched her shoulder.

"My apologies, _Fraulein_ , I didn't mean to startle you."

Mei turned to come face to face with a man about her age, with striking blue eyes and close-cropped blonde hair. When she noticed the trim physique clearly visible underneath his simple white t-shirt, she nervously adjusted her glasses.

"Oh, no! It's alright, I didn't hear you coming is all." The man gave her a cavalier smile.

"Let me refill your stein, by way of an apology."

Before Mei could respond, the man had flagged down the barkeep, who refilled her stein until the fizzing white foam spilled over its sides. The man accepted a cocktail of some sort for himself before turning his attention back to her.

"Would it be too bold of me to ask your name, _Fraulein_?" The way he said _fraulein_ made Mei's cheeks feel hot.

"I-I'm Mei," she replied. "It's nice to meet you…"

"Johann Fredrick," he finished. "And the pleasure is mine."

Mei gave him a shy smile, unsure of what to say. Apparently being a human popsicle in the artic for nine years hadn't done much to help her flirting. Fortunately, Johann came to her rescue.

"So, what brings such a striking young woman out into the middle of the Black Forest?"

"Well, um, I…"

This time, it wasn't nervousness that had her tongue in knots.

 _What should I tell him? I can't exactly say I'm out here scouting a new base for a rogue organization. But maybe…_

"I…came out here looking for the monster everyone is talking about—maybe even find out what happened to those hunters that went missing." She finished. Only after the words came out of her mouth did she realized how childish it must have sounded, sending new shades of red rushing to her face.

But instead of laughing at her, Johann's face lit up.

"What a coincidence! That is my reason for being here as well." He looked around the small inn before leaning in to whisper. "I was beginning to feel silly for chasing such a rumor, to tell the truth. Thank you for confiding in me." He gave her a wink.

"I was going to head back out into the forest tomorrow if you wanted to come!"

Perhaps it was the beer, or perhaps she really was that rusty, but Mei felt as though the words came tumbling out of her mouth of their own accord. Johann gave her another smile.

"Fantastic! It's a date, _fraulein_." He raised his glass. "Let's make a toast to Germany's newest monster hunters."

This time, Mei found herself smiling along with him. She raised her stein and clinked it lightly against Johann's cocktail.

" _Gānbēi_!" She toasted in her native tongue before taking a healthy sip.

" _Prost_!" Johann agreed, taking a sip of his own before looking into his drink disapprovingly. "The drinks here are good, but they melt the ice too quickly." He explained as he motioned for the barkeep.

"Oh, let me!" Mei smiled as she took the glass from Johann, picked up her cryogun from the seat beside her, and fired two tiny shots into it the air above it. Two deep-blue ice cubes crystalized into existence and dropped softly into the cocktail. Johann raised his blonde eyebrows as he accepted his drink again.

"That is quite the ice machine you have there." Mei blushed, fidgeting with her cryogun's dials.

"It's a device I designed—it's supposed to help me repair ecological sites, but it's been useful for plenty of other things too."

"Well, I feel safer already. That monster won't know what hit him." Johann tossed back the last dregs of his drink before rising to his feet. "I think I'll turn in for the night. Shall we meet here in the morning?"

Mei nodded, still fingering her cryogun. The German man gave her one last smile.

"Perfect. I'll see you bright and early." He placed a hand over hers, stopping her fidgeting immediately. "Sweet dreams, _fraulein_."

When Johann finally did turn to go, Mei's face was beet-red. She picked up her stein of beer and drained half of its contents in an attempt to slow the thumping in her chest. When that didn't work, she downed the rest of her stein, wiping the froth away from her lips as she finished.

The bartender approached, peered down into her now empty stein and raised his eyebrows, clearly wondering how a girl could nurse half a stein all night and finish her second in five minutes.

"Another?" he asked in a gruff voice thick with a German accent. Mei felt the edges of her mind begin to go fuzzy and shook her head.

"I'm fine." She fished into her pocket and dropped a handful of coins onto the counter. She gave the big man a smile and a wave before adding, "Thank you!"

Mei pushed herself away from the bar, collecting her equipment as she went. It was getting late, and she could tell that staying by the bar now would only mean more drinks and an unpleasant hangover in the morning. She made her way up the old wooden stairs in the corner of the bar to the inn's rooms. She found her number and pushed open the door, smiling at the inviting bed in the corner. On the other side of the room, she found Snowball digging through her rucksack, beeping happily. Mei groaned.

"Snowball, Get out of there." The cryo-drone popped up quizzically, one of Mei's bras dangling from its head. Mei quickly snatched the garment from his head and stuffed it back into her bag, blushing furiously. "Go to your charging station!"

The drone nodded in acknowledgement before floating off to its cylindrical charging station and landing inside. Its blue eyes flickered before being replaced with a charging symbol.

Mei deposited her gear in a pile next to her bed before falling backwards onto the soft mattress, letting out a tired sigh.

 _Tomorrow will be good._ She thought as she removed her glasses and placed them on the nightstand by her bed. _My mission for Winston is done, and it might nice to travel with another person for a change._ When Mei's mind wandered back to the image of Johann's trim physique and blue eyes, she felt her cheeks grow hot again. Embarrassed by her own thoughts, she threw herself under her covers as forced herself to sleep.

/

The next day, Mei met Johann on the first floor of the Inn early, and the two had set out again into the wilderness of the Black Forest. Given his propensity for embarrassing her, Mei had opted to leave Snowball behind in her room, allowing her to focus on exploring her human companion.

Or, with her human companion? She wasn't sure.

Johann walked at her side, wearing a simple t-shirt, pants and boots while carrying a large traveler's pack on his back.

"It is a beautiful day, is it not _fraulein?_ " He asked as he looked up at the canopy of leaves above them. Mei nodded in agreement.

"It is, Mr. Fredrick." The man turned his blue eyes to her and smiled.

"Please, call me Johann." Mei felt heat rise again in her face and quickly changed the subject.

"S-so, where should we start looking? I found a clearing that had been destroyed by something a few miles north of here." Johann thought a moment before nodding.

"I suppose that's a good enough place to start. Lead on."

Mei lead them back towards the clearing she had seen yesterday, retracing her steps over the fallen trees, streams and thickets she remembered passing. After a mile of neither of them speaking, Mei mustered up the courage to break the silence.

"So, Mr. F—I mean Johann. What have you heard about the two hunters that went missing?" Behind her, Johann hummed thoughtfully.

"Well, I believe they were Americans. Whether they came here looking to hunt boars or the monster itself, I cannot say—but they disappeared in these very woods less than a week ago. No one's been able to find them since."

Mei shook her head. "That's awful."

"All the more reason for us to find this monster, _fraulein_." Suddenly, Mei heard Johann stop walking behind her. "Hold a moment. Mei, I think I heard something over there, let's go investigate."

Mei turned to see Johann walking off to their left into the trees and quickly fell in beside him. She strained her ears in an attempt to hear what Johann had heard, her eyes scanning the forest in front of them for any sign of movement. She looked to Johann, who was doing the same.

"Do you think it could be the monster?" she asked in a whisper.

"Not sure." He responded in a similarly low tone, keeping his eyes on the forest. "You had better get your machine ready though, just in case."

Mei agreed and pulled her cryogun from its holster, priming it for a debilitating strike with a few adjustments to the dials on its side.

The forest seemed eerily quiet, just like it had the day before in the clearing, and Mei felt a similar sensation of uneasiness wash over her. As her eyes swept back and forth over the landscape, something on the ground a few yards away caught her eye. As quietly as she could, Mei moved towards it, her finger poised at the trigger of her gun. The closer she got, the more the item on the ground came into view.

"Johann, I think I found something!" she called back in a hushed yell.

In front of her, sitting in a pile of leaves was a backpack, or what remained of one anyway. The thick fabric of the pack had been sliced open in several places, and one of the straps appeared to be torn off. Mei knelt down and gingerly opened the bag, but found it empty. It wasn't until she placed it back down on the ground that she noticed the undeniable stain of dried blood on the pack's side. She felt queasy.

"This could have belonged to one of the missing hunters," she said aloud. "I wonder what happened to them."

"Oh, I think you'll find out soon enough." Mei had just enough time to wonder when Johann had gotten so close behind her before she felt a hard _thud_ on the back of her head, followed by unknowing darkness.

The next time Mei opened her eyes, she found herself in a new place. The sun-lit forest had been replaced with dank cave, the only light coming from the entrance a few dozen feet ahead of her. The back of her head throbbed with a dull ache, and stars danced along the edges of her vision. Beneath her, rocks and uneven earth dug uncomfortably into her back.

Then there were her limbs.

Her arms and legs felt numb as though they'd fallen asleep. And when she tried to move them, she found herself unable to do so. Groggily, she turned her head and saw why. Each of her limbs had been encased in blocks of blue ice, pinning them uselessly to the ground.

As she began to work out what had happened to her, a figure appeared in the light of the cave's entrance.

"Ah, you're finally awake _fraulein._ " Johann cooed as he approached. Mei couldn't help but notice her cryogun resting at his side. Mei groaned as her wits came back to her.

"Why?" she asked, her voice haggard. Johann smriked as he leaned casually up against the wall of the cave nearby.

"Is it really so hard to figure out? This ridiculous legend is the perfect bait for foreigners like you—so eager to wander into an unfamiliar place in search of _monsters_." He sighed. "Not to mention the perfect excuse for the disappearances when the law comes sniffing around. All I have to do is leave the occasional destroyed backpack for them to find and the fairytale lives."

"No," Mei said, a glare crystalizing on her face. "Whyare you _doing_ this?"

"Ah." Johann pushed off from the wall, walking closer to where Mei lay immobile. "For the same reason I took those Americans out here, and the others before them." His eyes flashed, and the piercing blue color Mei had once found handsome looked dangerous and cruel. "Because they had something I wanted."

He began to twirl Mei's cryogun by the hose connecting it to its pack, pacing back and forth like a wolf assessing its prey.

"You should count yourself lucky. Normally, I'd just dispose of you and sell this wonderful little invention of yours to the highest bidder… but you have more to offer me, I think." He licked his lips as his eyes drifted down from her face. "You really are _quite_ striking, _fraulein._ "

Mei realized in a wave of revulsion what he meant.

"Stay away from me." She growled, her voice low and empty of its usual joyfulness. "Or you'll regret it." Johann laughed, taking another step towards her.

"I don't think you're in any position to be making threats." She watched with disgust as he began to fiddle with his belt. "I'm sure by the time we're done, you'll—"

 _Thud. Thud. Thud._

Johann froze as the sound of massive footsteps came echoing from deep inside the cave. Mei strained her neck trying to look for the source of the sound behind her, but saw only darkness. Johann's hands flew from his belt to grab at the cryogun.

"Who's there?" He barked into the darkness. "Show yourself!"

 _Thud. Thud. Thud._

There was no response, but the footsteps grew louder. Johann cursed under his breath as he aimed the cryogun into the darkness.

"Stop, I'm warning you!"

 _THUD. THUD. THUD._

Mei felt fear rise into her gut as whatever it was in the cave moved closer to them. Immobilized as she was, she wouldn't stand a chance if she had to defend herself. Above her, Johann's blue eyes narrowed.

"Fine. Die then." Taking aim, Johan squeezed the trigger of the cryogun, sending a deadly-sharp icicle hurtling into the darkness. No sooner had the icicle disappeared, the footsteps stopped abruptly, leaving the cave silent once again.

He stood stock-still for a moment, looking and listening for any sign that whatever had been coming towards them was still moving. When none came, he let a confident smirk return to his face. He glanced back down at Mei.

"Now, where were we?"

But before Johann could move, a horrible growling noise unlike anything Mei had ever heard came rumbling from the darkness. She leaned her head back again to see one glowing red eye peering at them through the darkness.

Then, the cave was filled with a sound like thunder, reverberating off the walls so loudly that she could hear nothing else. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Johann spasm, then fall to the floor. When the thundering noise finally stopped, Mei's ears were ringing. She felt her pulse spike as the gleaming red eye reappeared in the darkness and began to stalk closer to her. Its footsteps echoed throughout the cave, until they too were deafening.

It wasn't until the eye was almost upon her that the rest of the creature's body came into view.

It was large, easily a head taller than an average person, with broad shoulders and something tall and cylindrical sprouting from its back. It seemed to be covered in green fur, from its strange one-eyed head to its two wide-set feet. The creature's head moved from Johann's unmoving body to stare down at her with a jerky, unnatural movment. Its large, human-like hand reached down towards her.

Mei felt cold dread run through her body, and she squeezed her eyes shut. She lay there, bracing herself for whatever horrible fate awaited her… but nothing came. Seconds passed, then a minute, then two. Still she remained very much alive and unharmed. So, with every ounce of courage she had left, Mei cracked open an eye.

What she found was a small yellow bird staring down at her from the monster's hand, its head cocked to the side. For a split second, confusion overcame her fear.

"…Mr. Bird? Is that you?" The bird chirped in reply, fluttering up to perch on the monster's shoulder. To her surprise, the bird pecked at its head, eliciting a light _clang_. A second later, the monster's red eye flickered and turned blue. Its entire body seemed to relax, and its once menacing presence was replaced with a childish curiosity.

Then, the creature _beeped_ at her. Mei's eyes went wide with realization.

"You're not a monster—you're an _Omnic_!"

Suddenly, everything made sense. From the legends, to the destroyed clearing, to the proximity to Eichenwalde, all the pieces fell into place.

 _No wonder I couldn't figure out which animal destroyed that forest—it wasn't an animal at all._ She mused as she squinted her eyes at the robot behind her.

She saw now that what she had thought was fur was really a thick layer of moss and weeds covering the robot's metallic hull. Judging by its size and shape, Mei guessed that this was a model from before the Omnic Crisis. "A really old Omnic, apparently." Remembering her current situation, she looked up at the robot. "Hey there, do you think there's any way you can get me out of this ice?"

The Omnic processed her words for a moment before reaching down and grabbing Mei by the back of her tank top. With surprising gentleness, it lifted her from the ground, prying her loose of her icy restraints. Mei shook feeling back into her hands and feet before giving her savior a thumbs up.

"Thank you—for saving me, I mean." The Omnic observed her gesture curiously before mimicking it with its own hand. Mei giggled. "Very good! Do you have a name I should call you?"

The robot's head tilted down towards its chest, and if to gesture to something hidden beneath the moss that covered it. Mei followed its lead, and delicately brushed away the overgrowth, revealing one word written in big, red lettering.

"Bastion?" Mei smiled when the Omnic beeped happily at the mention of its name. "Well then, it's a pleasure to meet you, Bastion." Mei held out her hand.

Bastion looked first at her hand, then its own, then back to hers before tentatively extending its hand as well. But before their hands touched, Bastion's eye shifted abruptly to something behind them.

Mei whirled around to see Johann dragging himself towards the mouth of the cave, clutching his thigh with one hand. Judging by the trail of red he left in his wake, Mei guessed that he'd been shot when Bastion has opened fire. He'd abandoned her cryogun in an effort to move quickly, but was still only inching at a snail's pace.

Mei glared at the man before striding over to her gear, slinging it over her shoulders and pointing her cryogun at the cave's entrance. A second later, a wall of shimmering ice erupted into existence, blocking the man's escape and bathing the inside of the cave in a blue tint. Johann yelped in surprise, rolling onto his back to face her.

"S-stay back, _fraulein!_ " he stammered, sounding more panicked than threatening. "Or else!"

Mei gave him a hard stare.

"I don't think you're in any position to be making threats." The repetition of his own words made Johann's face go pale in the blue light of the cave. He tried in vain to drag himself away from Mei as she walked towards him.

"W-what are your going to do?"

"I'm going to take you to the authorities, then you can answer for all of your crimes." She said sternly. Closing the already small distance between them, Mei stopped right in front of the man, who had finally reached her wall of ice. Her sweetest smile came to her face. "But first—do you know the term 'blue balls,' Mr. Fredrick?"

He shook his head slowly. Something dangerous gleamed in Mei's eyes as she dropped her cryogun to point it directly into his crotch.

"You're about to."

/

 _Whew! Interlude #2 done! I really enjoyed writing this one, partly because it's been in my brain for some time and partly because it was fun giving Mei the innocent, occasionally sociopathic personality that the internet seems to think she has. In any event, we'll finally get to Eichenwalde next chapter and see an ever-growing Overwatch begin to take shape!_

 _I hope you're all liking it so far—let me know in the reviews!_


	8. Chapter 5: New Arrivals

_Hey everybody! Sorry for the delay—I got sucked into Overwatch (the game) again, and long story short—Moira is my home girl. Incredibly fun to play._

 _Also, I just wanted to express my sincere thanks to everyone who's left a review so far. Those with pointers have made me a better writer, and those who just like the story, you keep me motivated to write more—so thank you all!_

 _Anyway, let's get on to the good stuff…_

Chapter 5: New Arrivals

In his modest apartments aboard Overwatch's underground train, Ian sat at the end of his bed, staring at the small white and orange badge he held in his hands. He traced the gleaming chevron shape that was engraved onto its surface with a finger.

It was the same badge he'd risked his life to take from Winston the day before. The same badge Tracer had given to him, beaming, in the infirmary.

The same badge that officially designated him as an agent of Overwatch.

 _For now_. The voice in the back of his head echoed firmly. _As soon as you get the order, you're back to being the CIP Operative responsible for bringing these people in._

Ian shook his head as he rose from his seat at the edge of the bed. It was inevitable that he would eventually have to turn on Tracer, Mercy, Torbjörn and the rest, but the idea of double-crossing anyone, mission or no, didn't sit well with him.

 _It's for everyone's benefit. For everyone's benefit._ Ian repeated his mantra to himself internally and let the thoughts of betrayal and espionage fall from his mind. Instead, he decided to occupy his thoughts with his current objective: making a good impression on his first real day in Overwatch.

Ian approached the body-length mirror that hung beside his door and inspected his outfit. He'd replaced his special ops fatigues with some of the clothes Tracer had managed to dig up from the train's storage—trading in his standard-issue camo for a simple pair of brown pants and a black t-shirt that fit surprisingly well on his lean frame.

He'd opted to keep his old boots and weathered grey combat jacket, which he wore open over his shirt. As the finishing touch, Ian fastened his new badge to the chest of his jacket, watching the light dance off of its polished surface.

When he was finished, his green eyes rose to meet their reflection and take in the Overwatch Agent staring back at him. He let himself smile.

 _Definite plus about being a part of an underground operation—the dress code's pretty casual._

Suddenly, Ian felt the faint, but noticeable pull of the train decelerating smoothly underneath him. The pull got more intense until he had to brace himself against the wall to keep himself from stumbling. There was the distant sound of metal grating on metal before the train finally lurched to a stop.

They had arrived.

A spontaneous flash of excitement raced through him, and Ian hastily grabbed his duffel bag of meagre possessions before striding out into the hall. He immediately saw that the stop had roused the rest of the team into action as well. Torbjörn was already out in the hallway, the entire top half of his body hidden behind a precarious pile of tools and scrap he was trying to carry out with him. Ian quirked an eyebrow.

"Torbjörn? What's with the pile of…stuff?" Ian stopped himself from calling it 'junk,' to avoid a lecture from the surly mechanic. At the sound of Ian's voice, Torbjörn carefully turned his body so that his head came into view.

"Didn't ya feel the train stop, boy? We're here!"

"I guessed _that_. What I meant was, why are you carrying your whole workshop out with you in a pile?" Torbjörn's face turned gravely serious as he looked unflinchingly at Ian.

"Because you never, _ever_ make two trips, Erwin."

Ian rolled his eyes as Torbjörn turned and waddled off down the hall, his pile swaying dangerously. He followed a safe distance behind, peering into the open rooms as he went.

He saw several other team members packing up as well—Mercy was busy packing her clothes neatly into a suitcase on her bed, while another room revealed Brigitte hastily throwing items into a large duffel bag similar to his own. As he reached the end of the corridor, Ian caught a glimpse of Winston pushing as case closed with a massive hand. He looked up at Ian as he passed and gave him a withering look that turned his blood to ice in his veins. Ian quickened his pace after that, side-stepping his way past Torbjörn towards the exit.

The entrance car, a small, sparse room in the center of the train, was located only a few cars down from the bedrooms. As Ian entered through the sliding metal door adjoining it to the kitchen car, he found that only Reinhardt had arrived before him.

He was dressed in his street clothes; a form-fitting blue t-shirt, olive green fatigue pants, and black boots. A massive duffle bag that could have fit Ian several times over sat on the ground at his side. But instead of his usual smile, Ian noticed a distant look in the former crusader's eyes and a downward curve to his mouth that made him look much older than he had the day before.

 _Something's not right here._ Ian thought as he made his way into the room. When Reinhardt didn't acknowledge his entrance, he decided to speak up.

"Hey, Reinhardt?" The sound of Ian's voice seemed to snap the man out of whatever was occupying his thoughts. Reinhardt turned to look down at him.

"Ah Sergeant Grey, apologies. I was lost with myself for a moment." He tried forcing a smile, which ended up looking more like a grimace than anything else. Ian frowned.

"Is everything alright?" Reinhardt slowly let the corners of his mouth drop again, and he turned towards the small rectangular window situated on the train's large exit door.

"We're docked in the cellars of Eichenwalde Castle." He sighed, not looking away from the small window. "After the Omnic Crisis, Overwatch built a hidden station in its ruins—just in case there was ever a need to get people in or out quickly ever again. But before that…" his face darkened. "Let us just say that Eichenwalde is full of ghosts, Sergeant. And many of them are mine."

Ian started to ask what Reinhardt had meant by 'ghosts', but the sound of the door opening behind them cut him off. Through it came a procession of agents and luggage, with Tracer leading Mercy, Torbjörn, and Brigitte enthusiastically into the entrance car. Winston entered a second later, carting several bags under his large, armored arm. As he did, he adjusted his glasses with his free hand and cleared his throat.

"Alright everyone; as you might have surmised, we've arrived at Eichenwalde. I've been in contact with our friend on the ground, and she's informed me that her work has already started to bring basic systems online in the castle. Once everyone gets settled, we can help her finish the job."

"Who is our 'friend on the ground,' Winston?" Tracer interjected, resting her hands on her hips. "You still haven't told us." The gorilla only smiled.

"You'll see soon enough, Lena. I'd hate to spoil the surprise. Now, let's go get acquainted with our new HQ, shall we?"

Winston punched in a few quick commands on a keypad mounted to the wall, and the entire wall Ian and Reinhardt had been facing began to rise with a mechanical groan. Ian had to shield his eyes as years of dust disturbed by the train's arrival swirled in through the open space. He heard Mercy cough behind him.

"Well, at least we know that no one's used this station in some time."

"I'd be surprised if anyone's used this damn station since I built it." Torbjörn grumbled as he shouldered his way past Ian and Reinhardt and out of the train, still balancing his pile of scrap and tools. "A fine waste a metal if ya ask me."

Others followed after him, with Winston and Mercy chatting about potential sterilization techniques to prepare their new clinic in the castle, while Brigitte moved to stand by Reinhardt's side. Ian watched as the young woman put a comforting hand on the old knight's arm. Whatever troubled Reinhardt about this place, she was clearly privy to.

Ian jerked back to attention when an elbow prodded his side. On his right, he found Tracer staring at him, restlessness evident on her face.

Unlike the others on the train, Tracer hadn't donned her street clothes. Instead, she still wore her yellow body suit and worn brown pilot's jacket, with the glowing blue light of her chronal accelerator pulsing in the center of her chest. She tapped her foot at him impatiently.

"You planning to stay on this train all day, love? Or did you want to get out there and explore our _bloody castle_ _base_?"

It was then that Ian remembered where he was—and what was waiting for him—and all of his previous excitement poured through him once again. He nodded vigorously.

"Yes. That second one. Definitely." Tracer giggled before reappearing in the dark cellar in front of them in a flash of blue.

"Well what are we waiting for? C'mon!"

Ian took a step forward to chase after her, but stopped himself to glance back at Reinhardt one more time. The large man still hadn't moved, and his expression was still stony and distant. Ian hesitated, feeling as though he should say something to try and cheer him up, but noticed Brigitte staring back at him. She gave him an appreciative smile before subtly motioning for him to go on without them.

 _It's probably best that I leave this to Brigitte anyway._ Ian thought as he turned back towards the exit. _She knows Reinhardt better than I ever will._

It took Ian breaking into a light jog to catch up with Tracer, who had already walked so far into the gloom of the cellar that only the light of her chronal accelerator was visible. She clicked her tongue at him as he came up beside her.

"Took you long enough, slowpoke."

"Just because you're ridiculously fast doesn't mean _I'm_ slow." Ian shot back. He glanced around the dimly lit cellar before adding, "Besides, I didn't want to rush and miss the view."

Around them, the cellar looked more like a long, windowless hallway; with dusty shelves and forgotten crates stacked haphazardly along its stone walls. The only sources of light came from the bright florescent lights of the train behind them, and the guttering orange glow of a torch mounted at the foot of a staircase several yards ahead. Tracer laughed at his side.

"Joke all you like, but I've heard that Eichenwalde castle is like something out of an old fairy tale in person. Hidden chambers, a big great hall, a dungeon—the whole lot! Reinhardt told me all about it on our way here."

"Speaking of Reinhardt," Ian cut in, his curiosity getting the best of him. "do you know what his deal is with this place? He seemed…different just now." Through the darkness, Ian could see Tracer frown.

"Oh, right. I suppose you wouldn't know, would you? Well, before he joined Overwatch, Reinhardt was a member of the German Crusaders." She sighed. "He fought in a huge battle here in Eichenwalde during the Omnic Crisis…He lost his commander during the fighting. He and Brigitte came back right before Winston sent out the recall to reclaim his armor, so I'm sure all of what he's feeling is pretty fresh."

Ian's mind shot back to the soul-wrenching moment on Gibraltar when he'd believed his own teammates dead and felt a wave of sympathy crash over him.

"God, I had no idea."

"Don't worry about Reinhardt—he's one of the strongest people I've ever met. He'll be alright." Tracer put a hand on Ian's shoulder and smiled. "You're very sweet for caring, though."

Ian found himself smiling back at her. "Thanks, Tracer."

A warm orange glow came over Tracer's face, and Ian realized that they had reached the stairway. Tracer noticed a split second later and turned towards the winding stone steps.

"Brilliant! Let's check this place out, yeah?" Tracer's hand slid off Ian's shoulder as she took off up the steps. Ian smiled after her for a moment before realizing his hand had absently replaced Tracer's on his shoulder. Ian quickly jerked his hand back to his side, making a mental note to get his arm checked out as he started his own, albeit slower, ascent after her.

As he climbed, Ian saw the darkness of the cellar give way to warm sunlight. After days under the artificial glow of the train's lighting, natural light was a welcome change. The light also let him see the old but sturdy stonework of the spiral staircase clearly for the first time—and the newly-installed security sensors that had been mounted periodically along the walls. The higher he climbed, the more it became apparent that someone had worked hard to update the old ruins for the times.

With one last turn, the stairway opened into a short stone hallway. At the other end, Ian could hear the familiar voices of his teammates echoing from the room beyond. His excitement mounting, Ian quickly passed through the hallway and entered a massive space that dropped his jaw.

He had walked into a massive great hall, with ceilings of vaulted stone and timber arches towering easily fifty feet above him. Sections of the arched roof had been recently patched and sealed with thick glass skylights that filled the chamber with sun, which transformed the specks of dust still hanging in the air into visible beams of light. Directly to his left, an ancient carved throne with griffon heads for armrests sat proudly at the end of the hall, with large and tattered banners hanging from the wall above it.

 _Tracer was right,_ He thought as he looked around. _This is like something out of a fairy tale._

As he wrestled his sense of awe back into submission, Ian noticed the group of his teammates that had formed at the center of the hall. With the exception of Reinhardt and Brigitte, everyone was there—Mercy and Winston smiling next to each other, Torbjörn checking the sturdiness of a nearby pillar with kicks from his short legs, and Tracer in the middle of it all, bear-hugging someone Ian didn't recognize.

She was shorter than him by a head, with thick brown hair and black square-rimmed glasses over her dark brown eyes. She wore a white tank top and dark blue pants, with a thick coat tied around her waist that seemed strange given the weather. The large smile currently inhabiting her face told Ian that she was just as glad to see the team as they were to see her.

As Ian approached, Tracer looked back at him and released the stranger from her embrace.

"Mei! This is the new recruit I was telling you about!" She beamed at him. "Ian, this is Mei-Ling Zhou, one of Overwatch's best climatologists, engineers, and, well, _loads_ of other stuff!"

Color flooded Mei's face at Tracer's onslaught of compliments before she shook Ian's hand.

"Just Mei is fine—it's nice to meet you Sergeant Grey." Ian smiled and returned the gesture.

"Nice to meet you too, Mei. And you can call me Ian." He looked around the hall again, noting the several visible improvements before adding. "I saw some of the upgrades you've been giving this place while I was coming up the stairs—it's pretty amazing work!"

"Thank you, but it wasn't too much trouble!" Mei said as her face started to redden again. "Besides, I had a lot of help."

Behind them, Winston raised a large furry eyebrow.

"Help? From who? Mei, you didn't tell me about another—"

" _WHAT IN THE GEAR-GRINDING HELL IS THAT?!"_

Everyone whirled around to find Torbjörn shaking his metallic arm at something large standing in the arch of a nearby hallway. Its body seemed oddly blocky, and a single rectangular eye emitted a soft blue glow. In his other hand, Torbjörn now brandished his trusty hammer. Ian noticed that the rest of the team had taken defensive positions as well.

"That's a _Bastion_ unit!" Mercy said in a voice sharp with nerves.

 _A Bastion unit?_ Ian felt his mind churn at that name. If his memory served, Bastions had been the ever-present foot soldiers of the Omnics during the Crisis. He remembered one of the old holovids they'd played during his basic training, where a single Bastion unit had transformed into a miniature tank and decimated an entire platoon, and felt his stomach turn over.

"Bloody hell," Tracer breathed, her pistols already in her hands. "I didn't think there were any of those left!"

"There _won't_ be in a moment."

Reinhardt's voice was a low, dangerous growl as strode past Ian towards the Omnic, his hammer in-hand. Brigitte followed him close behind, carrying the lion-head shield generator Reinhardt often wore on his armor. Ian was still trying to process how the huge man had approached so quietly when several things happened at once.

First, Reinhardt lunged toward the stationary Omnic with one powerful leap, swinging his hammer upwards in preparation of a devastating downward swing. The rest of the team stumbled backwards—startled by the sudden appearance of a battle-ready Reinhardt—all except for Mei. Instead of backing up, the young woman moved with surprising speed, dashing towards the Omnic and Reinhardt while simultaneously reaching for something hidden beneath the coat tied at her waist.

Finally, in a blur, the object in Mei's hand swept upward, and a huge wall of shimmering ice appeared between the Omnic and its attacker so abruptly that Ian nearly lost his footing staggering backward. Reinhardt's hammer came down hard on the wall of ice, sending glittering blue shards spraying in every direction, but leaving the Omnic behind it unharmed.

Amidst the falling bits of ice, Mei stepped forward and planted herself firmly between Reinhardt and the Bastion.

"Now you hold it right there, Reinhardt!" She shouted sternly. "You can't hurt Bastion!"

Reinhardt continued to stare at the Omnic behind her, his eyes fixed into a dangerous glare.

"I assure you, I can." Mei merely crossed her arms over her chest.

"No." The large man finally turned his frightening gaze downward towards her.

" _Why. Not._ " If Mei was intimidated by Reinhardt's imposing presence in front of her, she didn't show it.

"Because he isn't like other Bastions." She looked back at the Omnic and smiled. "He saved my life." Reinhart's grip on his hammer visibly tightened, and Ian could practically feel the animosity rolling off him.

"Bastions don't 'save' people! They kill people. Soldiers, civilians, _children_ —They even killed…" His voice trailed off momentarily before he continued. "We are not safe until that thing is a pile of scrap with the rest of its kind."

"You're wrong!" Mei shouted, shaking her head furiously. "Bastion wouldn't hurt anything that wasn't trying to hurt something else first!"

"You cannot possibly know that!" Reinhardt roared back. "It is designed to kill anything that moves, and the moment we let our guard down—"

Ian's attention shifted from the heated exchange happening in front of him when he noticed a small flash of yellow flit in and out of the corner of his eye. He looked upward and spotted a tiny songbird circling above them. It did a few circuits around the entire group, most likely sizing up the strangers in its home, before fluttering down to land somewhere behind Mei. Curious, Ian leaned to his left to get a better view. When he did, his eyebrows raised on their own.

"Uh, guys…"

His call was drowned out by Reinhardt's tirade, and no one even looked his way.

"Just one of them could kill scores of men, scores!"

"Hey, guys!" Ian tried again, louder this time. When he still received no response, he cupped his hands over around his mouth and all but yelled. " _GUYS!"_

The room turned in unison to stare at Ian, mostly in confusion. Reinhardt, however, still looked caught up in his anger.

"What, Sergeant?!" he growled, still brandishing his hammer.

Despite now feeling about two inches tall, Ian lifted his hand and pointed past Mei.

"Look."

Half a dozen pairs of eyes followed his finger before coming to rest on the Omnic.

Torbjörn's good eye went wide.

"What in the ever-lovin' world…"

"That is…amazing." Mercy gasped.

"It…definitely seems less… _murdery_ than the other Bastions I've met." Tracer added, blinking to Ian's side for a better look.

Reinhardt simply stood in silence, his expression still dark.

The team watched in amazement as the so-called 'killer' Omnic regarded the tiny yellow bird now perched on his outstretched finger, before gently brining it towards the small nest of twigs and leaves that sat on its right shoulder. As the bird hopped onto the nest, the faint sound of chirping filled the now silent hall as several tiny beaks peaked out from within the nest.

"Awww, it's got little babies!" Tracer gushed, letting her guns fall to her sides.

"You see?" Mei said, moving to stand beside the Bastion. "He's really very gentle. And he loves nature and animals, just like me!"

"It would certainly seem that way," Winston agreed, pushing his glasses back up his nose. "To think such a rudimentary model of Omnic could be capable of adapting past its primary functions like this—Mei, you've made quite the discovery."

"I agree," Mercy added, her eyes flashing with something akin to fascination. "We could run some tests, with the Bastion's permission of course, and see what changes have occurred in his core processes, and—"

" _No_!" Reinhardt bellowed, cutting the excited chatter in an instant. "This is not possible! I refuse to trust that _thing_!" he turned on his immense heel and shouldered his way past the rest of the team towards a nearby stairway. "The rest of you believe what you will—but don't be surprised when I have to come and save you when that Omnic turns on you."

As he stalked away up the steps, Ian saw Brigitte take a few uncertain steps after him before turning back to the group. Concern and conflict were apparent in equal measure on her face.

"I…I'll go see if I can talk to him." She said, giving Mei an apologetic look before taking off up the stairs after him.

The hall remained silent for a moment except for the tiny chirps of the baby birds on the Bastion's shoulder. Then, Mei heaved a long sigh before taking a seat on a nearby crate.

"I'm sorry everyone, this wasn't how I imagined your arrival would be at all."

"No, we apologize, Mei." Tracer responded warmly. "You've done all this amazing work by scouting out Eichenwalde and fixing this place up for us, and we haven't even thanked properly." she smiled. "So, thank you."

Ian and the rest of the team echoed the sentiment, bringing a pinkish tint back to Mei's cheeks.

"Thanks, everyone." Tracer appeared next to Mei on the opposite side of the hall and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"And don't worry about Reinhardt, love. He'll come 'round, even if it takes a bit." Ian watched as Tracer's smile slowly grew onto Mei's face too.

 _How does she do that?_ He asked himself. _That smile of hers is practically infectious._ He wasn't surprised, of course. Tracer practically oozed a sense of optimism and excitement that seemed to seep into him every time she was around. Ian guessed that he wasn't alone, either—the whole team looked more relaxed than they had only a moment ago, and even Torbjörn's expression was a little less surly than usual.

"So, what should we be callin' this Omnic of yours?" Torbjörn asked as he sized up the robot with one critical eye.

"Oh! Right. I've just been calling him Bastion." Mei responded as she hopped up from her seat. At the mention of its name, the Omnic looked towards Mei and tilted its head to one side and beeping. She giggled. "He seems to like it."

Tracer nodded, and without a moment's hesitation, strolled right up to the Omnic and held out her hand.

"Well, it's very nice to meet you, Bastion! I'm Lena Oxton, but everybody just calls me Tracer." Bastion looked down at the pilot's outstretched hand for a moment before mimicking the gesture. When Tracer started to shake up and down, Bastion beeped happily. Tracer laughed. "I guess _Beep Boop_ works too, if you like!"

The rest of the group followed suit, introducing themselves to Bastion with varying levels of grace. Ian felt a little awkward greeting something that looked more like a soda machine than a person, but he felt like a master diplomat in comparison to Torbjörn's brazen attempt to open up the Omnic's steel hull and examine its inner workings. Torbjörn's 'greeting' had earned him a smack on the head and a reproachful sermon from Mercy, sending him grumbling to the back of the group.

Once the introductions were done, Mei clapped her hands happily.

"Wonderful! Now that we all know each other, how about a tour? I'd love to show you what we've gotten done so far."

Ian exchanged looks of excitement with Tracer before nodding his head vigorously. Mei giggled.

"Alright then! We'll start here in the great hall, then I can show you some of the other rooms we've been working on."

Mei led Ian and the team back towards the small hallway they had entered through, stopping just before the steps leading up to the old throne. She pointed up towards the roof.

"When we got here, the roof was in pretty bad shape. I probably still wouldn't have it finished if I was working by myself, but Bastion helped me seal the holes and reinforce the scaffolding in less than a day."

She motioned towards the walls on either side of them, and Ian noticed the large collection of wires and inputs that had been bundled together into massive vines of technology. Both hung down almost to the ground from two identical wooden balconies on opposite sides of the hall.

"Winston, I fed a lot of the wiring into the hall here—so that you can set up Athena and our monitors." Winston scanned the room and smiled.

"It almost reminds me of our common area at Gibraltar… Yes, this will do nicely!" Mei smiled in return before ushering the group down another, larger hallway to their right.

They climbed a short, straight flight of stairs before they came into a large room with several stained-glass windows that stretched from floor to ceiling. Ian looked around to find a long wooden table lined with equally ornate-looking chairs.

"Let me guess; dining room?" he asked. Mei nodded, running a finger across the table's wooden surface and examining it for dust.

"Exactly! I haven't really done much in there, but it's right off of the kitchen which is in pretty good shape."

"Once he calms down, Reinhardt will be over the moon when he hears he's got a castle-sized kitchen to play in." Tracer whispered out the side of her mouth.

Mei continued to guide the team through a maze of hallways and rooms, stopping occasionally to point out an improvement that had been made. At one point, Mercy and Torbjörn began to argue over who would claim a particularly spacious room nestled right off of the main hall. Mercy wanted to use it as her new medbay, while Torbjörn believed it would be a perfect space to store his scrap metal. When the team voted overwhelmingly to turn it into a medbay, Mei helpfully directed the disgruntled engineer to the basement to investigate a room that she assured him would store his scrap just as well. Winston, who had been fidgeting at the back of the group for some time, took the two departures as an opportunity to politely excuse himself back to the great hall.

"I'd like to get Athena up and running as soon as possible," he'd explained. "So if more agents try to contact us, we're ready for them."

All the while, Ian had been keeping mental notes of each room they passed, but his interest piqued when Mei led them into a new hallway lined with doors. She turned to address the remaining group, smiling.

"These are the bedrooms!" She said, making a sweeping gesture towards the doors behind her. "We might be a little tight on space if we take on more members, but for now there's plenty of room for everyone." She smiled. "I spent a lot of time on these—I tried to add some touches for each of you to help you feel at home!"

"How thoughtful!" Mercy said, clapping her hands together happily. Tracer zipped to the front of the group, beaming.

"Can we look inside Mei? Which one's mine? Oh, I hope it has a softer bed than those train cots!" Laughing lightly at her teammate's enthusiasm, Mei nodded.

"Of course you can, it's your room silly! Yours is just there, the third one from the end."

Tracer made a break for the door with her usual gusto, swinging open the door and disappearing inside. Out in the hall, Ian could hear a muffled whoop of excitement.

"Aww it's _wicked_ in here!"

After Tracer, the rest of the team eagerly found their own rooms to investigate, until only Mei and Ian remained. Glancing over at her, Ian noticed that Mei looked visibly uncomfortable.

"Mei? Is something wrong?" he asked, which only seemed to intensify her unease.

"Sergeant Gre—I mean—Ian," she said, wringing her hands. "I'm so sorry—I didn't know you were with the team until a few days ago, and once I did, I didn't know anything about you, so…I don't have a room prepared for you or anything. Sorry!" She bowed her head so low that Ian was afraid she might tip over.

 _Wow,_ Ian thought, bemused by what he saw as a severe overreaction. _It looks like Mei is pretty big on manners._ He tried to dismiss the problem with a conciliatory wave of his hands.

"Mei, it's alright, honestly! I can always sleep back in the train."

Truthfully, the idea of sleeping alone back on the train he'd just spent several grueling days on sounded about as appealing as closing his hand in a door, but with everything Mei had done, anything seemed preferable to hurting her feelings.

But to Ian's relief, Mei's head popped instantaneously at his suggestion.

"You don't have to do that!" She said frantically. "It's nothing like the others, but have a room you can at least get a good night's sleep in." She turned and made her way towards the end of the hall, motioning for Ian to follow.

He fell in beside her, passing door after door as they went. Each time another passed, Ian expected Mei to stop, but instead she kept walking until they had passed every door in the hall and stopped at the foot of another winding stone stair. After a brief pause, Mei began to climb the steps upward.

"Wait, this room's not with the others?" He called after her, confused.

"You'll see!" She called back before disappearing behind a curl in the steps.

"Why is it always 'you'll see' with these guys?" Ian sighed to himself as he made his way after her.

The staircase proved to be much shorter than the one leading to the cellar, with only a single flight of curving steps between him and his destination. An old wooden doorway opened into a sizable circular room filled with little more than a simple twin bed and a barren writing desk made of oak. The tall cone-shaped ceiling above him was crisscrossed with exposed timber beams ascending into the shadowy pinnacle. Tall, thin window slits surrounded him, covering every section of the wall except one—the section of wall opposite the door opened to a small open-air balcony fenced by low fence of stone pillars.

Ian crossed the room and looked out past the balcony onto the surrounding view. In their exploration, Ian hadn't realized how high they'd gone within the castle's interior; the balcony looked out over the sweeping expanse of Eichenwalde's ruined village and well into the surrounding meadows and forest. Ian even thought he could make out the tiny silhouette of Stuttgart on the horizon. And as the cherry on top, the day was coming to a close, bathing the entire scene in the deep orange glow of the sunset.

 _Tracer's gonna freak when I show her this._

He turned to Mei, who was watching him expectantly.

"It doesn't have much, but I was planning on trying to make some improvements in a week or so."

"Are you kidding? This place is _amazing!_ " Ian exclaimed, still waiting his disbelief to subside. "I bet the rest of the team would be falling over themselves for a room like this."

"I started putting it together in case Winston or Reinhardt felt too cramped in their other rooms," Mei said. "But Winston told me he'd just make camp in the great hall while he works, and Reinhardt's nowhere to be found, so…it's yours!"

Ian smiled wide, partly from his incredible good fortune, and partly from Mei's pure considerateness.

"Well it's awesome. Thanks Mei."

"Of course!" Mei gave Ian another smile before she turned back towards the door. "I'll let you get settled. But head back to the great hall when you're ready, I'm no cook, but now that the train's here with more supplies, I can probably think of something for dinner!" She was halfway through closing the door behind her when Mei's head peered back into the room.

"Oh, and welcome to the team—I'm glad to see a new face after all this time."

Ian waved after Mei as she left. The door closed with a soft _clink_ , and he could hear the faint sound of footsteps descending the steps for a moment before he was left in the silence of his new living space.

Walking back out onto the balcony, Ian looked down at the lower rooftops of the castle below.

 _This room is perfect,_ he thought. _And not just for the view._

Ian briefly felt around for the hole in his jacket and fished out his tiny CIP comm with a finger. With no reception underground, he had gone days without a report to General Reiker—and he had a lot to fill him in on. With his room's separation from the rest of the team, and its clear access to the open sky, He would be able to reach the CIP with ease—without risking someone listening in on him in the process.

Glancing back at his door, Ian switched on the device and watched the green holoscreen and keyboard flash to life. He crossed the room and placed it on the old desk. He grimaced when he checked his messages—The CIP high-command had sent him several requests for updates since he left Gibraltar.

 _I'd better make this a vid call to let them know I haven't been compromised._

Ian pressed the necessary buttons on his keyboard before his message screen flashed to a screen that said "connecting." After only a few moments, the green and pixelated head of Secretary General Reiker appeared in its place. As usual, an ever-present cigar hung loosely between his teeth.

"This is the Secretary General." Reiker growled in his usual gruff tone. He squinted into the camera. "Who is this?" Ian smiled.

"It's Sergeant Grey, sir. Reporting in."

/

 _Well, we're finally at Eichenwalde. I apologize for the wait, but I've already started the next chapter so it should be out much faster than this one. Get excited for more castle mystery, character development, and other fun stuff :D._

 _As always, drop a review and let me know what you're liking/disliking so far, and I'll see you all next chapter. Happy New Year!_


	9. Chapter 6: Why We're Here

_Hello again, everybody! Chapter 6 is here (finally!)_

 _I ended up rewriting this a few times, trying to get everything to unfold like I wanted, but I think the result is my favorite chapter yet. Sorry my "quick update" turned out to be not so quick. But anyway, enjoy!_

 **Chapter 6: Why We're Here**

"It's Sergeant Grey, sir. Reporting in." Ian sat at the small wooden desk that comprised half of the furniture in his room, staring at the pixelated visage of Secretary General Reiker on his holo-screen. The sun had fallen almost entirely past the horizon, leaving the holo-screen's dim green glow the only significant source of light. On the screen, Reiker grunted in acknowledgement.

"Wipe that smile off your face, Sergeant. Where the hell have you been? We've been sending you status requests for the past four days—thought you'd gotten compromised and thrown in some Overwatch holding cell." Ian winced inwardly—he probably should have expected some kind of backlash after a several-day communications blackout.

"Yes sir, apologies." He swept the smile from his mouth and replaced it with the hard-eyed, tight-lipped stare he'd learned to wear around his drill sergeants during basic training. "I couldn't get a reliable signal to reach you while we were in transit, which took longer than I expected." Reiker gnawed on the end of his cigar, chewing Ian's words along with it.

" _Hm_ , well, I suppose there's nothing you could have done about that." He waved the cigar in his hand as if to dismiss the issue altogether. "Now, what's your report, Sergeant? Tell me you've got some idea of how big a mess we're dealing with here."

As the General stared at him with an unreadable expression, Ian relayed everything he'd learned since their last correspondence. He talked about his grueling initiation aboard the underground train, Winston's dogged suspicions towards him, their arrival at Eichenwalde, and everything in between. When he'd finished, there was a long silence before Reiker spoke again.

"So, we know that Overwatch is definitely back, establishing bases and actively recruiting old members. That's a good start." He leaned forward in his chair, magnifying the size of his face on Ian's screen. "But answer me this, Sergeant; do you know _why_ Winston decided to risk a one-way trip to prison bringing the band back together?"

At a loss for words, Ian felt his mouth open and close several times before hot embarrassment worked its way up into his face. He'd been living, eating, training and traveling with Overwatch for a week now, and it hadn't even occurred to him to ask what had prompted its agents to come out of hiding. Whatever it was would be integral to understanding what Winston and the others would do next, and who else might appear at their doorstep in the coming days.

 _This goes beyond bad spy work,_ he thought, mentally kicking himself. _This was me getting too caught up in my cover, and forgetting why I'm really here._

"I…don't, sir." He admitted, trying his best to keep his humiliation from showing.

"Well then, I'd say we both know what your next assignment is." General Reiker placed his cigar back between his teeth with an air of finality. Rhythmic billows of smoke began to pour from the sides of his mouth. "Get that information, Sergeant. I want to know what we can expect next from these outlaws—and when we can put an end to this whole thing before they make an international scene." He sat back in his chair before adding "Dismissed."

The holographic screen flickered out of existence as the connection ended, and Ian let out a sigh of frustration. He leaned back in his old wooden seat, running his hands through his short brown hair.

"Well that sucked." He grumbled to the latticed ceiling above him. He wasn't a spy, but it was still his job to find out what he could about Overwatch and help the CIP stop it. But so far, all he'd manage to learn was some basic intel that any moron with access to the CIP archives could look up in old Overwatch dossiers.

He rose abruptly from his seat, scooping up the comms unit and hiding it back in the small hole in his jacket as he went. If Reiker wanted answers, Ian would find them.

—

Ian was pleasantly surprised to find how quickly he was picking up the layout of the sprawling castle; he made his way down his spiral staircase, through the upper hallways, and back down to the main level with hardly any trouble. He only got turned around once, taking a wrong turn down a cramped hallway that had spit him out into a small, peculiar room with a rusted sword jutting upwards from a long-dead bonfire at its center. Ian debated taking the sword to show the others, but something about dark, soulless room made him think better of it.

It wasn't long after that Ian emerged from a stone entryway into the cavernous great hall. With the sun now set, the whole chamber was lit by a combination of torches and florescent lights recently installed to the rafters and walls. By the looks of things, Winston had wasted no time outfitting the hall with all the essentials; Monitors had been unpacked and mounted to the wooden balconies on either side of the hall, their wires snaking along the floor and out of sight, and several control consoles sat scattered around the front of the hall.

Ian looked up to see Winston himself dangling from a wrought iron chandelier by his prehensile foot while he finished securing a nearby monitor. The gorilla glanced down at him, snorted dismissively and returned to his work.

 _Good to see Winston's still my biggest fan._ Ian thought wryly. He was relieved to find the friendlier faces of Mercy and Torbjörn chatting at the end of a long wooden table that had been moved to the center of the hall. As he approached, Mercy looked up from her conversation and gave him an easy smile.

"Sergeant! Come join us—you're just in time for dinner." She motioned for him to take the seat next to her and across from Torbjörn. Ian accepted with a smile of his own, sliding off his combat jacket and hanging it on the seatback next to her. As he sunk into the ornate wooden chair, Ian found himself pleasantly surprised. Decades gathering dust in an abandoned castle aside, it was a pretty comfortable chair.

"Thanks, and just Ian is fine, really." He glanced pointedly around the room before asking "Where's everybody else? I'm usually the one late for dinner."

"Well, Winston's just up there, finishing getting Athena back online." Mercy nodded her head up towards the rafters. "Tracer's helping Mei finish up the food in the kitchens, and Bastion's gone to…well, he said he was—"

"He made _beepin'_ noises at ya, Angie!" Torbjörn groaned. "Don't go tryin' to make sense of it." Mercy crossed her arms indignantly.

"I know when I'm being spoken to, Mr. Lindholm, in Omnic or otherwise… I'm sure he was simply letting me know that he was going to fetch the table settings."

Torbjörn exploded in loud, throaty laughter, banging his mechanical hand on the table. "Fetchin' the silverware, is he? What a polite hunk o' metal we've found!" Ian could see by the daggers in Mercy's eyes that nothing close to pleasant conversation was about to follow, and he decided to change the subject.

"Any sign of Reinhardt or Brigitte yet?" Ian asked. He breathed an internal sigh of relief as the danger in Mercy's eyes guttered and died.

"Not yet, no." She admitted, frowning.

"I've known Reinhardt fer a long time," Torbjörn chimed in. "He just needs a bit of time tah cool off, and he'll get his head on straight." The mechanic smiled before adding, "That, or Brigitte'll screw it on proper for him."

Just then, a bustling noise came from one of the nearby hallways, followed closely by the appearance of Mei and Tracer. Each of them carried trays laden with all sorts of food.

"Dinner's ready!" Mei called cheerily, hefting a massive platter of roasted chicken, still steaming from the oven. The savory smells of the kitchen began to waft over the table, making Ian's mouth water. As she set the platter down on the table, Tracer followed suit with a plate of roasted vegetables and a large bowl of mashed potatoes and sausage.

"Mei, this smells marvelous!" Mercy exclaimed, craning her neck to get a better look.

"Thanks!" Mei replied. "Lena was a big help—it's nice to have someone to cook with again."

"It was nothing Mei, really." Tracer said, waving off the compliment. "I just helped with the bangers and mash." She dropped herself into the seat to Ian's right, giving him a sheepish smile. She lowered her voice so only he could hear before adding, "I'm actually a right menace in the kitchen, apologies in advance if it tastes like rubbish."

Mei surveyed the table with clear satisfaction and clapped her hands together. "Great! The food is all set, now all we need is—ah! Bastion, right on time."

Ian turned around in his chair to see Bastion standing in the archway leading to the kitchen, his arms piled high with plates, forks, knives, glasses, and serving ware.

He didn't have to look to feel the smug satisfaction radiating from Mercy beside him.

Dinner began normally enough, with Ian enjoying the warm food and chatting idly with Tracer. As she'd predicted, her rendition of sausage and mashed potatoes had somehow managed to turn two foods Ian normally enjoyed into the scourge of his taste buds. He'd considered excusing himself to spit out his first mouthful, but the expectant look Tracer had given him was too much to bear. So, he'd resigned himself to his fate and finished the entire scoop he'd taken for himself, using all the false enthusiasm he could muster.

In between bouts with his food, Ian committed his efforts to learning more about Overwatch, and why they'd come back. After forcing down his last bite of sausage, He leaned forward in his chair, getting the attention of the rest of the table.

"So," he began, keeping his tone as casual as possible. "What was everyone doing before the recall? I just realized I never asked." To his relief, the question seemed as innocuous as he'd hoped.

"I was just doing a little traveling." Mei offered happily. "You know, getting reacquainted with the world." Before Ian could ask what Mei meant by 'reacquainted,' she added. "I…was sort of frozen in the artic for nine years." Ian blinked.

"Wow. That's one hell of a fun fact." Mei giggled.

"Oh, believe me, I've probably got the most boring story here. Angela, weren't you running a clinic in a combat zone in Damascus?"

"It was Baghdad, actually." The doctor responded matter-of-factly. "Though I'd hardly call it a combat zone—just a part of the city that needed help."

"Yeah, a city in one of the most dangerous places in the world. You're not giving yourself enough credit, Angie!" Tracer burst in, still chewing on a mouthful of vegetables. She swallowed, and gave Mercy a knowing grin. "Besides, I've heard the rumors coming from that part of the world, all about an 'angel doctor' bringing people back from the dead…" Mercy's delicate face turned a light shade of pink before she became very focused on cutting her already-cut pieces of chicken.

Ian turned on Tracer again, giving her an inquisitive look. "What about you then, Tracer? What were you doing?" Tracer shrugged nonchalantly, as if Ian had just asked her about the weather.

"Nothing, really. Went back to King's Row for a bit, stopped a few international arms dealers, got in a scrape or two with Talon—the usual." Something flashed in Tracer's eyes as she abruptly leaned forward and poked Ian in the chest. "I think the real question is, what were _you_ doing before all this, newbie?"

There was no hint of accusation in Tracer's question, only her trademark playfulness—but with everyone at the table now staring at him intently, Ian couldn't help the feeling that he was being interrogated. He couldn't very well tell them what he'd really been up to before he joined them, but Ian knew that his safest option would be to stick as close to the truth as possible. That way, should he need to tell his story again, there would be less chance of him forgetting some fabricated detail. Heaving a sigh, he leaned back in his chair.

"Honestly, a lot of nothing." Ian was relieved to hear an easy confidence in his voice, even though he didn't feel it himself. "The CIP had me sitting in a lot of meetings."

"The meetings were important," He added quickly, "but it was just…so much _talking_ about doing things, instead of really doing them."

Ian's mind recalled his last meeting at the CIP, his talk with Val, and the familiar pit that had opened in his stomach when he'd passed by the dozens of holo-screens blaring the day's crises in his face. He suddenly felt a flash of anger burn through him.

"And every day, I'd walk down those big, fancy halls to my next meeting in a big, fancy conference room and see news story after news story of people who needed help. People who needed _my_ help. And all I could think was, 'if I were just out there, there'd be one less story like that on the news.'" He felt his grip tighten on the fork he was holding. "It just made me feel so… so…"

"Powerless?"

Ian looked up to see Winston now standing at the other end of the table, staring at him intently. The rest of the team shared similar expressions; some smiled at him, while others wore looks of mild surprise. It dawned on Ian that he'd gotten so caught up in a feeling he'd kept bottled up for so long, that he'd lost track of where he was and who he was talking to. Ian felt embarrassment wash over him for the second time that day as he mumbled an apology to the table in front of him.

Then, for the first time since they'd met, he heard Winston speak to him in a voice not filled with resentment.

"Don't be embarrassed, Sergeant. I felt the same way. Day after day, watching the world from afar and feeling that by doing nothing, you were letting these things happen." The gorilla growled. "It's enough to drive anyone mad." Winston must have remembered he was talking to Ian, because a moment later he shook his head and retreated back into his guarded demeanor. "In any case, it's…nice to see you might have your priorities in order."

"I second that."

This time, the room turned towards the end of the hall to see none other than Reinhardt striding towards them, Brigitte in tow. He was in his street clothes and appeared to be unarmed, but Mei's eyes still darted nervously towards Bastion, who was standing a few feet away from the table. She stood and opened her mouth to say something, but Reinhardt held up a large hand to stop her.

"I'm not here to fight, I promise." His good eye fell from Mei's face to the floor. "I—I wanted to apologize to you, Mei. I acted in a way unbecoming of a Crusader, and of a friend." He looked up and addressed the table. "I let my history with this place and an old man's stubbornness get the best of me. Any… _one_ who wishes to fight alongside us should be given the opportunity to do so." He gave Bastion a stiff nod before dropping to one knee and bowing his head. "So, I beg you, my friends, for your forgiveness."

There was a short pause in which nobody moved. For the briefest of seconds, Ian worried no one would speak up—until Mei walked over to the old knight and wrapped one of his thick arms in a hug.

"Of course I forgive you!" She said, pressing her face into his sleeve. "what would we do without our Reinhardt?"

Ian watched with a small smile as the rest of the group gave Reinhardt similar words of forgiveness—and saw the traces of Reinhardt's old, boisterous self he regained with each one. In no time, Reinhardt seemed almost himself again, taking a seat at the table and proclaiming loudly that he couldn't remember the last time he'd been so hungry. Brigitte quietly took a seat next to him, but Ian could practically feel the relief rolling off her.

—

After the team had all but decimated the food and calmed down a bit, Winston cleared his throat loudly, drawing everyone's attention back to the front of the hall. He flashed the entire table a smile of big, white teeth.

"I can't tell you how happy it makes me to see so many of you together again. I know the personal risk you all took when you answered your communicators and joined me at Gibraltar, and I want you to know how much that means to me." He paused to look around the table, and Ian saw pure affection in his eyes.

 _This was more than Winston's team—this was his family._ Ian realized. Looking at the other faces around him, he guessed he wasn't the only one to feel that way, either. Winston wiped a speck of wet away from the corner of his eye with a massive finger before continuing.

"But more importantly, I can't tell you how much it means to the world. For too long, we've stood by and watched people suffer. We've let a room full of bureaucrats drag our proud name through the mud, and tell us the world doesn't need us. Well, today that changes. We're finished letting others tell us when we should help those in need—it's time for us to be a symbol of hope again!" Winston snatched up a glass of water that sat in front of him and raised it high into the air. "To Overwatch!"

The table followed suit, with glasses rising into the air with calls of "To Overwatch!" and "Together Again!" echoing through the hall. Even Bastion, who clearly seemed confused as to what was happening, mimicked the salute, raising an empty hand grasping an imaginary glass and beeping excitedly.

Ian raised his own glass high and shouted along with the rest, while something in the back of his mind seemed to relax.

 _The reason they all came back—the reason they were willing to risk so much—was to help make the world a better. Obviously. What other motivations would heroes need?_ He almost laughed at the irony. He'd been sent here to put a stop to Overwatch for the greater good, and in doing so, was stopping them from doing just that. He felt his mind start to wander towards the eventual possibility of putting these selfless people in prison cells, but quickly brushed it aside. For tonight, he decided, he would simply enjoy the lie; that he was here to make a difference, too.

Winston waited for the cheers to die down before he continued.

"Now, I know it's been awhile since some of us have been out in the field—and even longer since we've been in the field together. So, I've come up with an exercise to help us 'brush off the cobwebs,' so to speak." He scooped up a holo-folder resting on a pile of unpacked boxes and slid it to the center of the table. Its display burst to life, revealing the sprawling town of Eichenwalde, with their castle sitting in the center of it all.

"All around us, there is a large, entirely empty town." Winston's grin grew wider. "Which makes it the ideal place for us to train as a team, in a realistic setting, with minimal risk of us being discovered."

"That's brilliant!" Tracer exclaimed, practically vibrating with excitement next to Ian. "What kind of training is it? Will we use our weapons? Is this going to be a 'control the point' kind of exercise, or—"

"Settle down, Lena," Winston cut in, chuckling. "I'll answer all of your questions, just not all at once." He swiped his hand over the map, and two points on opposite ends of the town flashed into existence; one red, the other blue.

"We'll be splitting the team up into two teams, with each team being responsible for one of these two points—"

"Oh!" Tracer blurted again, "So it's like capture the flag?"

"Save your questions until the end, Lena." Winston said sternly. He composed himself and continued. "Each team will be given an holo-folder to guard from the other team. The team that can successfully retrieve the other's folder while protecting their own—"

"It's _literally_ capture the flag."

"Lena!"

"Sorry!" Tracer slouched backward in her chair, and Ian could have sworn he heard her say " _you could have just said it was capture the flag…_ " under her breath. Winston drove his attention back towards the map, dead-set on finishing his explanation.

"We'll be using modified versions of your weapons that Torbjörn's prepared, so you don't seriously injure each other by accident. I'll announce who's on what team tomorrow morning when our exercise begins!" Finally finished, Winston looked around the table, smiling. "Now, any questions?"

There was a brief pause before Tracer slowly raised her hand.

"Just to clarify—you _do_ know that this is capture the flag, right?" Winston dragged a hand over his face, looking more than a little exasperated.

"I'd say that's an end to dinner. Thank you everyone."

As people rose from the table, Ian started towards the stairway with Tracer.

"A big training exercise with the whole team, in an entire town, with no boundaries?" Tracer beamed at him. "Tomorrow's going to be _amazing!_ " Ian nodded in vehement agreement.

"I know! I can't wait to see what everybody can do." He smiled at her. "I hope we end up on the same side though—I'd hate to have to show you up in front of everybody."

"Oh, you wish! I'd trounce you and you bloody know it." Tracer giggled before returning his smile in earnest. "…but I hope we're on the same team, too."

"Besides," she added in a more businesslike tone, "I'm excited to see what you can do when you've got a proper team at your back."

As they talked of the next day's exercise, a question wormed its way to the front of Ian's brain and made him stop halfway up the stairs. Noticing he was no longer walking next to her, Tracer turned back and gave him a questioning look.

"Everything alright?" Ian nodded slowly.

"Yeah," he replied distractedly, "I just realized that I need to ask Winston something. I'm going to see if I can catch him before he disappears somewhere—I'll catch up with you?"

Tracer nodded. "Sure, just stop by my room when you're finished—that way you can see the sweet setup Mei gave me!" Ian smiled, nodded, and began his descent back down the stairs.

—

Earlier that day, Ian would have been downright nervous to talk with Winston alone; but after their moment of understanding during dinner, Ian felt confident that the gorilla wouldn't snap him in half and make it look like an accident.

Mostly confident, anyway.

When he reentered the hall, Ian was relieved to find Winston still there, fiddling with a tangle of wires connected to the huge monitor mounted at the front of the hall, just above the carved wooden throne. He approached more noisily than he usually would have, ensuring Winston wouldn't be startled by his sudden appearance. Sure enough, the scientist looked up from his work, and gave Ian a terse nod.

"Sergeant. What can I do for you?"

 _He's curt._ Ian thought happily. _Curt is better than openly hostile._

"Sorry to bother you, Winston," he began, "but there was something you said about tomorrow that made me realize I might be at a slight disadvantage." Winston raised a suspicious eyebrow.

"And what might that be?"

"You said that everyone would be fighting with modified versions of their weapons tomorrow." Ian replied simply. "The problem is—I don't really have one of those, so I'm not sure what I'll be fighting with."

Winston's face remained impassive, but Ian thought he saw the slightest flicker of amusement in his eyes.

"Ah, yes. About that." The gorilla set down his tangle of wires and began to pad towards one of the narrower hallways leading out of the great hall. he motioned for Ian to follow, and Ian quickly fell in step beside him. "You remember where Torbjörn set up his workshop, I trust? Just down this hall, to the left, and down the first flight of stairs you see?" Ian nodded slowly, causing Winston to grin knowingly. "Good. Go and pay him a visit, I think he may have something for you." Winston turned on his large heel and walked back to his wires. "Good evening, Sergeant."

Ian looked back at Winston, then down the dark, torch-lit hall, and felt a wave of suspicion roll over him. The last time Winston had surprised him, it had been with a new impossible obstacle course meant to fail him out of Overwatch. And while he felt like their relationship had improved marginally since then, Ian still wouldn't put it past him to arm him with a faulty gun or a perfectly ordinary stick for tomorrow's exercise.

Swallowing his wariness for the time being, Ian made his way down the hall, took a left, and descended the dark stairway. Even with the addition of florescent lights at regular intervals, the cramped stone stairs felt dark and claustrophobic. Ian breathed a sigh of relief when he started to hear the distant _clanging_ sound of metal on metal. It meant he was close, and moreover, that Torbjörn was still awake.

Several dozen steps later, Ian emerged into a well-lit, low-ceilinged chamber, with florescent lights lining the ceiling and bathing the entire room in a glaring white glow. Ian was sure that the room's depth and lack of ventilation prevented the use of torches, but after becoming used to the two sources of light together, seeing only one was strangely jarring to his eyes.

Once his vision adjusted, the first thing Ian noticed were the cells. Lining either side of the roughly forty-foot room were medieval prison cells with dark iron bars. The first few he passed were empty, but as he ventured further inward, he began to see weaponry of all kinds; everything from pistols to rocket launchers, resting on the cells' stone benches. Ian even passed a cell filled with what looked like futuristic swords of different styles.

 _I guess this must be one of the dungeons Tracer was talking about._ He mused as he made his way deeper into the room.

Ian looked to the end of the dungeon and found a large wooden table strewn with tools, odd bits of metal, and other sundries he didn't recognize. What the table had been used for in the dungeon originally, Ian couldn't guess, but it had clearly become Torbjörn's workstation here in the castle. Torbjörn himself sat behind it on a high wooden chair, hammering two nondescript pieces of metal together into a shape that's purpose Ian couldn't guess. The engineer's face was concealed behind a soldering helmet, but his wild pale-yellow beard sprouted from the bottom like a stubborn, unkempt weed. He must have noticed Ian's arrival, because he set down his hammer and hopped off his stool with a surprising nimbleness. As he approached Ian, Torbjörn flipped up his helmet, revealing a predictably surly expression.

"Ewan, what brings yah down to my workshop?" Ian ignored his misnomer and pressed forward, his curiosity spurred on by the cells filled with state-of-the-art weaponry.

"Winston sent me down here," he explained while trying to hide the anxiousness in his voice. "he said you might have a weapon for me?"

At the mention of a weapon, Torbjörn's eye twinkled and a genuine, giddy smile spread wide beneath his beard.

"I was wonderin' when you'd come asking me about that." Torbjörn bustled off to an open cell behind his workbench at the end of the hall.

"Yah see, I like to get tah know an agent before I make them their weapon." He called from inside the cell, the sound of clattering metal echoing after him. "I like tah see how they fight, how they _think_." Ian's eyebrows raised in surprise.

"So you've been watching me to figure all that out?" he asked skeptically.

"Of course!" Torbjörn's head poked out from inside the cell and looked at Ian. "Fer instance; you, Edgar, yer a tactical thinker. But yah don't mind gettin' in the thick of things, neither… It's an interesting combination fer a weapon."

Torbjörn disappeared momentarily before he reemerged from the cell, holding a long, slender case. "But in the end, I found the perfect match." He grinned again as he set the case onto the table. "I always do." When Ian didn't move, Torbjörn made an exasperated sound. "Well, what are yah waitin' fer, it tah ask yah tah dinner? Open it!"

"Oh, uh, right!" Ian quickly approached the table and ran his hand over the smooth metal of the case. He felt his heartbeat quicken as his fingers searched along the sides and undo the latches holding the case closed. He licked his lips anxiously. This wasn't just a weapon- this was

Torbjörn's psychological assessment of him, weaponized. This, according to one of the greatest armorers of all time, was the weapon that symbolized his strengths, style, and tendencies in battle. It was all enough to make Ian feel self-conscious.

 _Here goes nothing._ Steeling himself, he hooked his fingers around the lip of the case's lid and pulled it open.

Inside was a weapon Ian had never seen before. It looked like a matte black tactical shotgun, but instead of a regular magazine, it had four long cylinders like a revolver. What more, each cylinder had a different symbol in a different color carved into its side. Ian lifted it out of its case and turned it over in his hands.

"A beauty, isn't she?" Torbjörn mused with all the affection of a new parent. "She's a new design of mine; started her while we were at Gibraltar."

Ian's mind went back to his first meeting with the Torbjörn in his workshop at Gibraltar and remembered the shotgun Tracer had been ogling on the wall.

"I remember this!" Ian exclaimed excitedly. "But, it didn't quite look like this the last time."

"Well of course not!" Torbjörn sputtered defensively. " _She_ wasn't meant fer you yet. I had tah make a few…modifications." Ian tried to rotate the cylinders, and found that they easily switched and clicked back into place to align snugly with the barrel.

"I can see that." Ian said, fascinated. He felt the next, obvious question dancing on the tip of his tongue. "So, what does it do?"

Torbjörn's smile returned in an instant.

"So glad yah asked." He motioned for the gun, which Ian turned over graciously. With a delicate touch, the shorter man ran a hand along the length of the weapon. "She's light-weight, compact, and easy tah reload," he began slowly. He gave Ian a knowing look. "But that's not even close tah what she really is." He pointed to each of the four cylinders. "Where most guns are little more than killin' machines, this here is a weapon of utility, designed tah solve problems in more ways than fillin' something with holes."

Ian smiled. "I like the sound of that." He liked to be able to defend himself, but Ian had always preferred to accomplish his missions with as few casualties on either side as possible.

Torbjörn rotated the cylinders until one with a red 'X' on its surface was on top. "This here is yer typical shotgun. Bullets come out, bad guys go down. But if yah turn it to the right…" The cylinders cycled in his hands, and a blue lightning bolt sat etched on top. "…and what yah get is a projectile EMP, capable of shortin' out a small tank…or a _really_ big omnic." He turned the cylinders again, and a white starburst symbol appeared. "This'll shoot a delayed flash grenade." He explained. "It's small, but it'll have yah seein' stars for a day or two."

"Wouldn't that blind me as well as whoever I'm attacking?" Ian asked. Torbjörn looked affronted.

"If I were some kind of two-bit gunsmith sellin' pea-shooters it would! But I designed these grenades special—they explode outward only, so the light from the back is only about a quarter the strength."

"Wow," Ian breathed. "That's impressive." Torbjörn laughed.

"Yah haven't even seen the best part." Turning the cylinders one final time, Torbjörn landed on a symbol etched in silver that looked like a giant 'U.' Without explanation, he handed the gun back to Ian and turned him toward the staircase at the other end of the room. "Pull the trigger _ONCE_ , and don't pull it again until I say so, understood?" Ian thought about asking one of several questions he had, but decided to let Torbjörn's tutorial run its course. Instead, he simply nodded in agreement. Torbjörn grunted with approval. "Good. Now, Shoot!"

Ian squeezed the trigger, but instead of a spray of bullets and recoil, a small, silvery ball shot out of his barrel, moving like a bullet through water. Ian watched as the silvery ball hurtled toward the end of the dungeon, whizzing past cell after cell. Ian though it might reach the stairs until Torbjörn shouted,

" _Now!"_

Almost reflexively, Ian squeezed the trigger again. The silvery ball quivered, lit up for a moment, then imploded with a vaguely metallic noise. As soon as it did, there was the deafening sound of half-a-hundred weapons colliding noisily with the iron bars of their cells, while the few open cell doors nearest the ball lurched open and stood taught. From somewhere behind him, Ian watched as a few pieces of scrap went soaring through the air, all crashing noisily together around the ball. For one surreal moment, it appeared as though every gun, cell door, and piece of scrap in the room were being yanked towards the silvery ball by threads of invisible string. Then as quickly as it had come, everything came crashing back to the ground.

Ian stood with the gun in his hands, his mouth agape. "What…the hell was that?!" He asked, dumbfounded.

"Pretty impressive, isn't it?" Torbjörn replied, waggling his eyebrows proudly. "It's a miniaturized, remotely-activated magnetic charge of my own design. Moves slow enough through the air that yah can position it, and implodes with enough magnetic energy tah pull any weapon, omnic, car, or any metal anything to it for a solid few seconds. Yah can use it tah disarm a whole enemy unit, stop an escapin' hovercar, or whatever else yah can think of." He gave Ian a stern look. "But don't go usin' it all over the place—It's only got a few shots per magazine, and those charges are no walk in the park tah make."

Ian stood there, absorbing all of the information Torbjörn had just given him. Just off the top of his head, Ian could think of twenty other uses for the magnetic charge alone—with the comparable versatility of the gun's other settings, Ian guessed he'd come up with a nearly endless list of applications for his new weapon before the night was over.

 _Torbjörn was right_ , Ian thought, smiling. _This is the perfect one for me._

"Torbjörn, I don't know what to say," he started, truly at a loss for words. "This is—"

The engineer put up a hand to cut him off. "Don't thank me, just promise me that you'll use her fer the good of the people around yah. That'll be enough."

Ian responded immediately. "I promise."

Torbjörn nodded approvingly. "Then that's that. Now, go and learn about yer new baby fer tomorrow, Sergeant—" He looked around the room at the now scattered scrap and guns lying on the floor of each cell and frowned. "…I've got an armory tah tidy up."

Feeling light-headed with excitement, Ian waved goodbye to Torbjörn and climbed the stairs two at a time. He'd just been given a state-of-the-art Overwatch weapon created specifically with him in mind. What's more, he was going to get a chance to test it out in a real scenario tomorrow morning.

 _Tracer is gonna flip out when I show her this!_ He thought gleefully as he reached the top of the stairs. Instead of going back to the great hall, Ian turned left and started up a narrower flight of stairs towards the bedrooms. He was sure she'd still be awake, and then maybe she might have some ideas of her own on how he could use the gun's settings tomorrow…

Was it just him, or did the castle seem colder?

 _I left my jacket downstairs at the table._ He realized suddenly. How could he have not noticed before?

He almost considered leaving it there and grabbing it in the morning, until he remembered the CIP communicator that sat hidden in the small tear of its lining. His mind played out the scenario of Winston or some other team member stumbling across the piece of tech and he shuddered. He didn't like what he saw.

So Ian adjusted course yet again, turning back around and quickly climbing the stairs down to the great hall.

When he reached the entrance, he found the great hall completely dark, save for the few smoldering remains of several torches along the walls. In the darkness, the cavernous center of the castle seemed eerily quiet, as though it were sleeping too.

He groped blindly in the near-blackness until he felt the smooth wooden surface of the table under his fingers, then began to work his way down the line of chairs until he felt the soft, sturdy fabric of his jacket. He breathed a sigh of relief as the tension flowed out of him. He'd recovered the only evidence of his real identity, no harm done—now he might still have time to visit Tracer before she—

There was a sudden sound of footsteps from the other end of the hall that made Ian jump nearly out of his skin. Without thinking, he threw himself under the table between two chairs, trying to be as quiet as possible. Fortunately, the footsteps didn't seem to come more than a few feet into the hall until stopping.

"There," said a low, rumbling voice from the other end of the hall. "You should be all set, Athena."

 _Winston_. Ian knew immediately. _But why is he down here doing work in the dark?_

There was a sudden pale blue light that washed over the room, blinding Ian's darkness-adjusted eyes. A familiar, elegant voice responded to Winston, saying,

"Thank you, Winston. My basic systems are now fully operational. Shall we the begin security backup protocol?"

"Let's just make sure that everything having to do with Project Deity is locked up tight tonight," Winston's voice responded in a low tone. "Everything else can wait."

As his vison returned, Ian's ears snagged on something in Winston's answer.

 _Project Deity?_ He tried to silently crawl closer to the other end of the room under the long table, hoping to catch some glimpse of the screen above him. Athena's elegant voice echoed into the hall again, this time adopting a similar volume to Winston's.

"Is it not wise to discuss Project Deity with the team, Winston? We are in a secure location, and I haven't detected any further interference from Sombra." Winston grunted in response.

"I've told you, not yet. We need to give everyone time to come together again. They need to remember what it is to be a team again before—"

"With all due respect, Winston, we did not decide to risk reforming Overwatch for the sake of the team." Athena cut in with an edge of emotion in her otherwise impassive voice. "I do not need to remind you that the longer we take to prepare, the more uncertain the percentages become that we will be able to expose the truth in time?"

"I _know_ the risks, Athena." Winston growled. "But the fact of the matter is, if we don't meet this problem as the Overwatch people remember, we might end up doing more harm than good." Ian heard the sound of Winston padding back out of the room. "I'm going to get some sleep, Athena. Finish securing Deity, and we'll discuss everything more tomorrow while the team is out."

There was a pause before Athena spoke again. "Very well. Sleep well, Winston." The blue light flickered and disappeared, leaving Ian alone in the dark once again. He waited until he couldn't even hear the echo of Winston's footsteps before he dared to climb out from his hiding place. Ian looked up at the faint afterglow of Athena's monitor, and felt his mind churning.

 _So, keeping secrets from the team, Winston? So much for not trusting me._ His grip tightened on the collar of his jacket as he turned and felt his way back towards the stairs.

 _The real question is, why are we_ _really_ _here?_

—

 _Holy cliffhangers, there's the end of chapter 6! Again, apologies for the delay, but I think the result was worth the extra rounds. As always, let me know what you think, and I'll see you next chapter!_


	10. Chapter 7: Team Exercise

_Welcome to chapter 7, everybody! I've been working on this chapter concurrently along with the next interlude, so the bright side is that the next chapter will be out waaaayyyy sooner than my usual timeline! Woot._

 _Now, enjoy the chapter!_

 **Chapter 7: Team Exercise**

A million thoughts and questions flashed through Ian's mind as he made his way quietly up the torch-lit stairway towards Eichenwalde's bedchambers.

He'd just overheard Winston and Athena talking about some operation so secret that they hadn't even told the rest of the team about it, which brought several questions lurching to the forefront of his mind. Why would Winston keep an operation from his teammates? Why had he been so eager to secure its contents before anything else? Was he hiding it from the others because he didn't trust them, or because he was afraid they wouldn't approve? But all of these questions paled in comparison to the one that burned brightest inside him.

 _What is Project Deity?_ Ian's mind replayed the name over and over, hoping to unearth something in his memory that might point him towards a clue, but it was just too vague. 'Project Deity' could have one of thousands of meanings, or it could be nothing more than a codename that only Winston knew the true meaning of.

 _The name itself isn't going to give me anything,_ Ian thought as he trudged up the steps. _What I really need to do is find a way to listen into Winston and Athena's conversation tomorrow._

This, however, posed its own set of mind-bending problems. Winston had planned his timing carefully; while Ian and the rest of the team would be preoccupied with their training exercise, he would be free to discuss the details of his secret operation without being overheard.

 _It will be almost impossible for me to slip away from everyone if we're grouped up into teams, and if Winston hears that I went MIA conveniently during his little meeting with Athena, he'll be even more suspicious of me than he is already._

Ian knitted his brow, scouring every brain cell for a solution. Could he pretend to be sick? No. Too predictable, and Mercy would see through his lie as soon as she walked into his room. Maybe he could plant his comm somewhere before the exercise and record the conversation? No again. Too many ways that could go wrong, and there'd be no explaining his way out of trouble if he got caught.

A growl rumbled up into his throat. _I can't risk getting caught, but I can't let an opportunity like this go—it might be my only shot._ He took a moment on the steps the recompose himself, exhaling his frustration one breath at a time. When calm settled over him once more, he continued his ascent. _This whole job would be a hell of a lot easier if I had a partner…_

 _Wait, a partner!_ Ian felt an idea burst through the heavy clouds from his mind. Winston was hiding this operation from the others too—they'd be just as eager the learn the truth as he was, right? And with a partner, he'd have an alibi, another set of ears, and someone to back him up if he was caught eavesdropping.

The cautious part of his brain quickly tempered his excitement—it was a huge risk even trying to enlist the help of another member of Overwatch. What if they questioned his motives? What if they chose to trust Winston, their longtime teammate and friend, over him? What if they simply went to confront Winston directly, and destroyed Ian's opportunity to learn anything at all?

 _Tracer would do it._ Ian thought abruptly. _She's already gone around Winston once to help me pass my entrance exam, and I'd bet my left arm that she'll want answers too._ He softened a moment, thinking of Tracer's ever-present smile, of the jokes and conversations they'd had since he joined them at Gibraltar. _And more than anything, she's the closest friend I've got on this team. If anyone would be willing to at least hear me out, it'd be her._ Ian ran through a few more scenarios in his head, but couldn't think of anything more promising. He nodded once to himself, making up his mind. _Right, Tracer's my best option. It's risky, but I have to try._

He'd have to talk to her tonight. Waiting until tomorrow morning wouldn't give them any time to plan, and there'd be a greater chance of the others overhearing. Ian had just decided to find his way to Tracer's room when he had to stop himself from running face-first into her door. Clearly, his legs had known where he was going before he had. He glanced out the window behind him and saw the moon hanging high in the night sky.

 _It's late,_ Ian thought with a tinge of nervousness. _I hope she isn't asleep already._ He brought his hand up to the old door and knocked softly.

" _Psst, Tracer!"_ He whispered as audibly as he dared. " _It's Ian, are you awake?"_

To Ian's relief, he heard the muffled sounds of movement come from inside the room. A moment later, the door opened a crack and a bleary, lidded brown eye peered out at him.

"Ian?" Tracer said in a voice thick with sleep. "What's going on?"

"Sorry to bug you so late," he replied sheepishly. "but I have something really important to talk to you about."

"What, is something—wrong?" A long yawn interrupted her drawling question.

"No, nothing's wrong, it's just—I heard something that couldn't wait until tomorrow. Can I come in?"

Tracer's heavy eyes opened a degree wider. He'd captured her interest, at least. She nodded slowly.

"Sure, just let me turn a light on first." She shut the door softly, and a light from inside the room flooded out into the hall from the gap between the door and the floor. A second later, Tracer's door opened again, and Ian slipped inside.

Tracer's room was small, but cozy. The mortared, windowless room was filled with the warm glow of a standing lamp that stood close to the door. Nearly all of the western wall was dedicated to a gorgeous stone fireplace with a Cherrywood mantle. Freshly split logs sat neatly arranged on its hearth and filled the room with the scent of pine. On the eastern wall, a small wooden desk stood propped against the stone, with a well-worn upholstered chair tucked neatly away beneath it. The desk itself was mostly barren, save for a cluster of personal photos and a small model jet propped up by a stand that gave it the appearance of flying through the air. Tracer's bed sat at the far wall opposite the door, with a sturdy-looking iron frame and bedding that looked very soft even from where Ian was standing. A large blue flag bearing the Overwatch symbol hung proudly above the bed and a short dresser sat to the left, with Tracer's chronal accelerator charging in its port on top of it.

It looked more to Ian like a room from some cabin out in the forest than a bedchamber in a castle, and it filled him with an inexplicable sense of comfort.

That was, until his eyes finally fell to Tracer.

Sleep had clearly left its mark on her hair, which was even wilder than it usually was, but Ian found it strangely flattering on her. She'd traded in her jumpsuit and jacket for more customary nightwear; a plain white tank top and burnt yellow pajama shorts which left her midriff and legs distractingly exposed. All in all, it was a completely normal ensemble to wear to bed—but it was also more of Tracer than Ian had ever seen, and he felt an uncomfortable heat rush to his face. His eyes lingered on Tracer's long, exposed legs for the span of a heartbeat before he caught himself and began to examine a stone in the wall behind her intently.

"Your room is nice." He said dumbly, attempting to sound casual and failing in stunning fashion. Fortunately, Tracer didn't seem to notice his awkwardness in her current languid state.

"Thanks," she said, arching her back into a stretch that nearly managed to tear Ian's attention from his stone. "I told you Mei did a good job. It's even got—" she stopped talking abruptly. "Ian…what is _that?_ "

Curious, Ian glanced back at Tracer, only to find her staring down at his waist. Her eyes were wide, the tiredness that had been there only seconds before gone completely.

"I've never seen one that big before!" She said in a voice full of awe.

No. He hadn't… Had he?

Ian felt a mortifying chill run all the way down into his toes, followed by red-hot embarrassment that burned its way up into his cheeks and ears. His eyes shot downward...only to see his newly procured shotgun resting forgotten in his hand.

… _You're an idiot, Ian._

"O-oh, right. It's my new shotgun. Torbjörn made it for me."

"So that's what took you so long!" Tracer exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with wonderment. "Can I see it?"

Ian handed the gun over to Tracer, who inspected the gun with an enthusiasm that rivaled Torbjörn's. She spun the rotating cylinders and whistled.

"This thing is WICK—" Tracer began to exclaim loudly before seemingly remembering that it was, in fact, the middle of the night. Bringing her tone down to an excited whisper, she repeated, " _This thing is wicked!"_ She thrust it back into Ian's hands and sat back onto her bed, looking at him eagerly. "You've got to tell me how it works!"

"I will, I promise," Ian set the gun down on the desk, and pulled out the upholstered chair before seating himself across from Tracer. "but that's not what I came here to talk to you about."

Tracer's enthusiasm wavered. "What's going on? Did something happen?"

"You could say that," Ian began slowly, choosing his words carefully. "It's probably best if I start from the beginning…"

Ian retold the events of that evening to Tracer, from where he left her on the stairs, to when he'd ended up at her door. He made sure to make the bit about retrieving his jacket sound as innocent as possible, recounting truthfully how he'd forgotten it in his excitement, and gone to retrieve it after meeting with Torbjörn in the armory. He'd fudged some details on his actual discovery of Project Deity though; saying he'd had no choice but to hide when Winston came in, for fear of him assuming Ian was eavesdropping on purpose.

All in all, Ian felt like he did a decent job making himself sound like an unwitting victim of circumstance instead of a spy trying to subvert Overwatch from the inside.

When he was finished, Ian sat back in his chair and waited for Tracer to respond. He knew that his plan—maybe even his entire mission—hinged on how she reacted. He fought back the urge to swallow the growing lump in this throat.

"So…you heard Winston talking about a secret project…that he's been hiding from us?"

Ian nodded. "That's the gist of it."

There was a sickening moment where Tracer sat silent and cross-legged on her bed with an unreadable expression on her face. Had he said something that had given him away? Ian felt a cold sweat form on the back of his neck. He had just opened his mouth to try and explain himself further when Tracer slammed her hand down onto her mattress.

"That explains so much!" She said, realization dawning on her face. "I _knew_ he'd been acting strangely since we came back!" She looked at Ian. "This has to be why." Tracer sprang off her bed and began to pace around her room. "I don't know what Winston thinks is worth hiding from everybody, but whatever it is must be big." She stopped pacing in front of Ian's chair and placed her hands purposefully on his shoulders. "We've got to figure out what this 'Project Deity' thing is."

Ian sat in his chair, his eyes wide. He couldn't believe his dumb luck. Not only did Tracer seem to accept his story, she was actually _suggesting_ they snoop around and find out what Winston was hiding. Still, he knew that appearing too eager now would only work against him.

"Are you sure, Tracer? I mean, whatever he's planning must be pretty dangerous if he's keeping it from everyone." Ian asked, doing his best to sound hesitant.

"All the more reason he should have told us about it!" Tracer said indignantly. "Besides, we're on the same team—and teammates don't keep things from each other." Ian tried to ignore the twinge in his gut at that. Her chestnut eyes stared unflinchingly into his, waiting for his response.

Ian pretended to deliberate for a moment before nodding. "Alright, I'm in."

Tracer smiled and stood up, taking her hands off his shoulders. "Brilliant."

"If we're going to do this though, we'll need a plan." Ian said, rising from his seat. "Or Winston and the others might figure out what we're up to."

Tracer nodded along. "You're right—hold on a tic." She walked around Ian and opened a drawer in the desk behind him, returning with a pen and small notepad in hand. She returned to her spot on her bed, and gave Ian a smile. "Right. Now, what's the plan, love?"

/

Ian stood outside in the brisk morning air in front of Eichenwalde castle's massive wooden gates, resenting the energetic shine of the sun slowly rising above them.

He and Tracer had stayed up into the small hours of the morning concocting a plan for their exercise; and by the time he'd finally crept back up to his own bed for some much-needed rest, Winston had come knocking on everyone's doors, instructing them to suit up and meet outside. He'd gotten ready as quickly as his lethargy would allow, not wanting to be the last one to his first exercise; so he was understandably annoyed to find that only Mei and Brigitte had bothered to show up on time.

"I'd kill somebody for a coffee." Ian groaned as he tried to rub the bags from beneath his eyes.

Beside him, Mei giggled. "Sorry, Ian—but you all finished the last of the coffee on your train ride over here—we won't have more until we make our next supply run."

"That's assuming I make it until the next one." Ian said with a dramatic wave of his hands. "I might collapse from exhaustion before then."

Mei laughed again. Brigitte, who'd been busy outfitting herself in combat armor, made a clicking sound with her tongue.

"And why ever would you be so tired this morning, Ian?" She asked with mock innocence in her tone. "Weren't making any… _late-night_ _visits_ , were you?"

Ian felt color flood to his face. "What?! No, I—"

"Are you _sure_ about that?" Brigitte needled on, a grin stretching across her face. "My room's right next to Tracer's, you know—and I could have _sworn_ I heard someone that sounds just like you at her door last night."

"Oh my!" Mei covered her mouth as a pink tinge appeared on her cheeks. Ian only felt his own blush grow more intense.

"T-that's not it at all!" He said defensively, "I just wanted to show her the gun Torbjörn made for me, that's all!" He held up the training-version of his gun for them to see like a lawyer presenting his evidence. To his dismay, this only seemed to fuel Brigitte further. She raised an eyebrow at him suggestively.

"I'm _sure_ that's what happened." She gave him what Ian guessed was supposed to be a playful nudge, but it felt more like a boxer jabbing him in the ribs.

Ian rubbed his tender side and looked away from the both of them. "Where is everybody, anyway?" He asked irritably, desperate for a change in the topic of conversation. "I thought Winston told us all to meet here."

"Not all of you, Sergeant."

Ian turned his attention to the smaller doorway beside the main gates and saw Winston walking towards them, Tracer in tow. He prayed neither of them had heard anything else of his and Brigitte's conversation.

"Morning, Winston!" Mei greeted with a smile. Her face flushed slightly as she added, "Morning, Tracer."

Tracer yawned, and offered a lazy wave. "Morning, Mei— _bloody hell_ am I knackered this morning—did you know there isn't any coffee?"

Ian could practically feel Brigitte's stare boring into the back of his head.

"What do you mean by 'not all of us,' Winston?" He asked, fighting back the burning in his ears.

Winston smiled. "The others are busy securing their holo-folder on the other side of town, I imagine." He made a sweeping gesture. "Say hello to the rest of Blue Team."

Ian looked around at the rest of those present, nodding. _So, Brigitte, Tracer, Mei, and me—that means we're up against Reinhardt, Mercy, Torbjörn and Bastion._ A thought occurred to Ian that suddenly made him feel uneasy.

"Hey Winston, how is Bastion going to know this is practice?" he asked with poorly-veiled apprehension in his voice. "It's not like we can exactly replace his gun."

Winston nodded at him. "Mei voiced the same concerns to me yesterday—Bastion will not be participating in training exercises, at least until we gain a better understanding of how he determines and reacts to threats."

"That's fine," Brigitte said with a smile. "That makes it an even four-on-four."

Winston adjusted his glasses. "Four-on-three, actually. I still have some work to do getting Athena fully integrated into our new space, so I won't be participating today, either."

"Won't that be unfair to the other team?" Mei asked, looking concerned. But Winston only laughed.

"That's why I put three seasoned veterans together—you'll be going up against a team that already knows how to work together seamlessly."

Mei considered this a moment before some of the color drained from her face. Brigitte, on the other hand, picked up the large mace that rested at her side and gave the group a savage smile.

"Veterans or no, I'm ready to win this—Master Reinhardt is going to see just how much I've improved!"

Winston chuckled. "I'm glad to see your enthusiasm," He reached a large hand into a compartment in his armor and produced a blue holo-folder, which he placed into Brigitte's free hand. "I hope you'll guard this just as zealously." He reached into a different compartment and handed a small earpiece to each of them. "You can use these to communicate with each other during the exercise."

Ian looked at the holo-folder in Brigitte's hands and noticed a digital clock slowly counting down on its holographic surface. Winston seemed to anticipate the question that sat waiting on his lips.

"That countdown is synchronized to each team's holo-folder. You'll have until it reaches zero to prepare your defenses—then once you hear the signal to start, you'll be free to go after your opponents' folder." Winston smiled at the group. "Don't forget, this is a team exercise, so work together to the best of your ability."

The team nodded in unison. Satisfied, Winston said his goodbyes before heading back into the castle, leaving Ian and his three teammates alone with their dwindling prep time. Ian looked around the group, calling to mind everything he knew about each of them.

Tracer was fast and agile—undoubtedly suited for the team's offensive. Mei's cyro technology made her exceptionally versatile, but gave her a distinct edge defending an area.

Brigitte was difficult, as Ian hadn't seen her in a combat scenario yet, but he guessed from her apprenticeship under Reinhardt and the mace in her hand that she preferred to do her fighting close-up. If he was being truly impartial, Brigitte would be most valuable covering Tracer while she attempted to take the other team's folder.

But for Ian's _real_ plan to work, He would need both Brigitte and Mei to stay behind. Making a gathering motion with his arms, he soon had everyone in a tight huddle.

"Alright everybody," he said in his best sergeant's voice. "We're going up against a seasoned team of elite fighters. Lucky for us, we've got numbers on our side, so if we split up evenly, there's no way we'll be outnumbered on offense or defense."

"But what if all three of them decide to go on the offensive?" Mei asked, her complexion still missing some of its color.

"Then their holo-folder will be left undefended, which means if we're fast enough, we'll be back before they've managed to get past our defenses." Brigitte raised an eyebrow.

"Who's _we_?"

Ian nodded towards Tracer. "Given our skillsets, I think it makes the most sense for Tracer and I to go on offense, while you and Mei hang back to guard the holo-folder."

" _More like you want some more alone-time with you-know-who_." Brigitte mumbled under her breath. Beside her, Mei covered a smile with her hand.

"Does that plan work for everyone else?" Ian asked, ignoring them. When no one objected, he slung his practice shotgun over his shoulder and put in his earpiece. "Good. Tracer and I will scout out the surrounding area and find the best route through town, radio us if you run into any trouble."

"But what about the countdown?" Mei interjected softly. "Isn't starting before it ends sort of…cheating?"

"We won't go far, love." Tracer said with a reassuring smile. "Just far enough to find a clear path before the exercise starts." She placed her own earpiece snugly into her ear and drew her pistols with a flourish. "Now, let's get going already!"

The rest of the team followed suit, preparing their weapons and securing their earpieces before setting off away from the castle and towards their predetermined base. They walked together for several dozen yards before Brigitte and Mei stopped at the entrance of a small inn. The building itself was in fairly good condition, but weather and disuse had taken their tolls on its façade. Most of its charming blue paint had long since flaked away, leaving nothing but weather-worn wood in its place, and the windows that still remained in-tact were opaque with dust and dirt.

"Well, this is us." Brigitte said, giving the inn an appraising look. After a moment spent prodding the brick and wood walls with her flail, she shrugged. "Could be worse. Mei, let's start securing the entrances."

Mei nodded before ducking inside, stopping only briefly to give Ian and Tracer a wave. Brigitte smiled at them both, resting her flail on her shoulder.

"Stay careful out there, you two. We're going up against some serious competition." He waved the holo-folder in her hand. "We've got ten minutes before this thing starts, so try not to... _lose track of time_." She gave Ian another painful jab and a not-at-all-furtive wink.

" _Thanks_ , Brigitte." Ian managed through a clenched smile, doing his best not to wince at the pain in his side. Whether Brigitte hadn't noticed the edge in his voice, or was simply unconcerned with embarrassing him, Ian didn't know—but the grin she gave them both looked as innocent as a newborn's.

"Of course," she said cheerily. "Now, get going!"

Ian waited until they'd rounded a corner and put the inn out of sight before dropping the smile from his face and clutching his side.

"She really hits like a hammer, doesn't she?"

"She gave me a 'pat on the back' once while we were drinking—I had a bruise for _weeks_." Tracer said, laughing. "What was she on about with us 'losing track of time,' anyway?"

"No idea." Ian lied. Somehow, he doubted telling Tracer that their teammates thought they'd spent the night together would be overly helpful to the task at hand. And for some reason, the thought of bringing such a topic up with her in any capacity made his gut twist itself into knots. Instead, he gracefully switched topics back to their mission.

"We should double back to the castle sooner rather than later—We don't want to miss any crucial details of Winston's pow-wow."

Tracer gave him a quick nod. "Agreed. It's pretty good luck we ended up on the same team, eh?"

Ian grinned through the lingering pain in his side. "It definitively makes everything a lot easier."

In the military, Ian had learned that a 'perfect plan' somewhat of an oxymoron. Plans by their very nature required one to make assumptions about future events, and in his own personal experience, the future seemed to take great pleasure in flying in the face of his assumptions. Instead, he'd learned that the closest approximation to a real perfect plan was to formulate one simple strategy and splinter it into a thousand variations. Each iteration of the same plan would address a different eventuality, so that when things invariably went south, his response would be pre-determined.

So the night before, Ian and Tracer had begun their planning with a simple outline; find each other, find Winston, and avoid detection. That had then been broken down into the scenarios Ian knew were the most likely—If Tracer and he were put on different teams, if one of them for whatever reason couldn't find the other, or if one of them became incapacitated during the exercise. In a strange way, Ian was disappointed they'd ended up in the simplest situation to handle, but he couldn't complain about the surplus of time it had given them.

"If we can get back to the great hall before the countdown ends, we might be able to get the info we need and be back before the others realize we're gone." He said, voicing his thoughts for Tracer to hear.

"All the more reason for us to hurry." Tracer said, breaking into a light jog. She looked back over her shoulder at Ian. "C'mon! I know a side door that will put us in the kitchens."

Ian followed Tracer as she weaved her way between the dilapidated buildings, hurdling rubble and ducking under fallen beams as he went. No matter what stood in their way, Tracer's pace never slowed, and Ian was left understandably mystified by his own ability to keep up.

It took them some time to double back to the appropriate part of the castle, and when Ian finally spied its solid stone walls, Brigitte's voice came crackling through his comm.

"Two minutes left until show time, guys. Good luck out there!"

"Copy that, thanks Brigitte." Ian replied. _We're going to need it._

They'd traveled to nearly the opposite side of the castle, and the surrounding village abruptly gave way to a steep cliff face that protected the castle's rear. Ian leaned over the ledge of an ancient stone guardrail and saw nothing but endless green spires of evergreen, beech, oak, and elm rising to meet him hundreds of feet below. He took a reflexive step back, suddenly feeling queasy.

"You alright, love?" Tracer asked, putting a steadying hand on his shoulder. "You look a bit green on your edges."

"I'm fine," Ian assured her. "I guess I just didn't realize how high up we were."

"It's easy to forget when you've been cooped up in this castle." She agreed, squinting up at the immense stone fortress. "Not to worry though, we'll be back inside in no time—we just have to get to that door."

Tracer pointed towards a plain wooden door in the castle's edifice that lay on the other side of a particularly unreliable-looking stone walkway. She must have noticed the look on Ian's face, because she gave him a playful nudge.

"I didn't take you as someone who'd be afraid of heights, Mr. Badass-Soldier-Man."

"I'm not afraid of heights." Ian said defensively. "I just try and avoid falling to my death whenever possible."

"Oh don't be so dramatic, it's just a walkway. Look," Tracer disappeared in a flash of blue and appeared on the other side. "See?" she called back, jumping up and down. "There's nothing to worry ab—"

Ian felt pure, icy terror fill him as Tracer's ankle rolled underneath her during one of her jumps, sending her stumbling backward. There was a heartbeat where she looked as though she might regain her balance, but a poorly placed step on some loose stones sent her falling backwards towards the waist-high stone rail. Time seemed to slow down as Ian helplessly watched her disappear head-first over the rail.

" _TRACER!"_ Ian cried out with mindless desperation. In that moment, he forgot about the bridge, the heights, the exercise, project deity, and even his mission completely. He thundered over the bridge as fast as his feet would allow, barely slowing down as he slammed into the stone guardrail Tracer had fallen over. He frantically scanned the side of the cliff, then the canopy of treetops below, looking for any sign of Tracer. "Tracer!" he called again, straining his ears for any sign of her voice.

He almost went over the edge himself when he abruptly heard her sing-song laughter directly behind him.

"I've never seen anybody move that fast before," Tracer said between bouts of giggles. "You must _really_ like me."

Ian spun around, his brain doing gymnastics attempting to rationalize what had just happened.

"You just—the cliff—fell" he sputtered incoherently. "How did you—How _are_ you?" Tracer tapped the glowing blue device resting on her chest empathically. In a moment, Ian put the pieces together. He picked himself up off the ground and glared at Tracer. "That was _not_ funny." Tracer shrugged.

"It got you over that bridge pretty quickly though, didn't it?" Her lips parted into a foxy grin. "And it was a _little_ funny."

"You made me yell your name!" Ian shot back, latching on to any reason he could think of to be annoyed at her. "What if someone heard us?!"

" _You're_ the one that decided to scream bloody murder, love." She said, rolling her eyes. "Why do people yell when people fall, anyway? It's not like yelling my name's going to float me back up to safety."

Ian opened his mouth to retort, but found his mind infuriatingly devoid of witty or insightful counterpoints. So, he did the only mature thing he could think of; folding his arms and settling in for a good, sulking silence. Tracer stared at him a moment before making an exasperated noise.

"Fine, be cross at me, but let's at least do it inside? I don't want to miss our opportunity."

Reluctantly, Ian followed Tracer through the small wooden door into the castle, currently rethinking the whole notion of bringing a partner into his plan.

As they'd expected, the kitchens were completely empty, with dishes from last night's meal still piled into a greasy heap in its deep metal sink. Several metal shelves lined the walls, stacked high with pots, pans, and other kitchen tools. There were two additional entryways into the kitchen; one to their left, on the far side of the long rectangular room, and one on the opposite wall directly in front of them. Tracer pointed towards the latter.

"That hallway should take us to the upper balconies of the great hall." she whispered. "We should be able to listen in on Winston and Athena from there and stay well out of sight." Ian responded with a dismissive nod, still not ready to return to speaking terms. Realizing this, Tracer sighed with exasperation. "Oh _come on_ , it was just a bit of fun, Ian. You're not going to stay mad at me this whole exercise, are you?"

To Ian's great annoyance, there was a small, rational voice in the recesses of his brain that seemed to agree with her. Why was he so angry? It was one hell of a prank to pull, sure, but Tracer had never really been in danger. And when Ian really thought about it, he would have found the humor in such a crazy stunt after his adrenaline wore off if it had been any of his other teammates. So why was Tracer any different?

Still unable to find a rational argument for his feelings, Ian persisted in silence. Tracer's expression softened slightly.

"Look, Ian, I—" A sound from the other side of the kitchen made her stop mid-sentence, and her entire body tensed like a cat. In less than a second, Tracer had taken hold of Ian's arm and hauled them both across the room and into the relative safety of the hallway. Tracer pressed herself flat against the wall, and stole a quick glance around the corner.

" _Bullocks."_ She swore under her breath.

"What is it?" Ian asked, forgetting momentarily that he was angry at her.

"It's Bastion." She whispered, peeking around the corner again. "It looks like he's bringing in supplies left over from the train."

Ian peered out from their hiding place as well, and sure enough, the tall omnic was there, carting piles of food and supplies into the kitchen from the far entryway.

"It's alright," Tracer said, watching the omnic intently. "If we move quiet enough, we should be able to—"

 _ **BOOM!**_

A sound like a cannon blast sounded from somewhere nearby, making Ian and Tracer start simultaneously. Bastion's head turned mechanically towards the sound, and Ian shrank back into the cover of the hall. Ian was about to ask what the noise could have been when the abrupt addition of Brigitte's voice in his ear almost gave him a heart attack.

"Tracer! Ian! You guys there?"

" _Keep your voice down, Brigitte!"_ Ian hissed into his comm, his annoyance returning to him in an instant.

"Keep your pants on, Sergeant, it's not like the other team can hear us." She responded waggishly. "The countdown's finished—that must have been what the cannon was for. What's your position?"

"We're hear the eastern outskirts of town," Ian lied. "Can we talk later? Tracer and I are sort of in the middle of something."

"Ooohh are you now?" her voice all ribald honey. "What did I say about you two losing track of t—."

With a _click_ , Ian turned off his comm. Their task was stressful enough without Brigitte cooing innuendos into his ear.

"We should turn our comms off for now." Ian said shortly when Tracer gave him a questioning look. "It'll only be a distraction until we get back outside." She paused for a moment before shrugging deferentially and switching off her comm as well.

With surprising stealth, Tracer detached herself from the wall and began to creep up the dim stairway that waited for them in the hall. She turned back and motioned for Ian to follow. "C'mon, let's get into position."

The stairway spit them out onto the old wooden balcony that overlooked the left side of the great hall, putting Ian almost eye-level with the black iron chandeliers that hung from the ceiling on long, fat chains. From here, Ian could also see the sections of the balcony that had recently been reinforced to support the weight of the hefty monitors that now sat mounted to them. As he and Tracer crept closer to the balcony's edge, they heard Athena's elegant voice echoing through the chamber.

"—dramatic increase of criminal activity, Winston. Six high-security research facilities have been raided in the last year alone, and specialists are being abducted from their homes all around the world."

Ian inched closer to the edge, and Athena's array of screens came into view. As if to emphasize her point, articles and clips from local news stations had been pulled up on the displays, each covering a different incident. "The data is incontrovertible; these events are not mere coincidences."

" _I know_ , Athena," Winston growled from somewhere below. "That's why we risked recalling Overwatch at all, in case you'd forgotten."

Ian recoiled instinctually at the sudden addition of Winston's voice, retreating a step towards the shadowy safety of the stairway. Fortunately, the conversation continued, showing no recognition of their presence.

"Then why have we not debriefed the team?" Athena's voice asked sharply. "We're wasting precious time, Winston."

"For the last time, Athena, we aren't ready yet!" Winston said with all the aggravation of someone who'd had this exact argument several times before. "If we tell the others now, all they'll want to do is scatter to the winds and chase down every loose thread they can find." There was a short pause before Winston continued in a more measured tone.

"What we need is a definitive plan of action, and a team capable enough to execute it. We'll continue to increase our numbers, and if we can just get the team back to the way we were before the Petras Act—"

"How are we going to increase our numbers when you're skeptical of our first new recruit?" Athena's voice snapped with what Ian swore was contempt. "I have pulled all available files on Sergeant Grey, and yet you still insist on running additional searches." At the mention of his own name, Ian took a few cautious steps forward, again bringing the screens into view. He felt a pang of uneasiness as montage of pictures, files, and records of him and his life paraded across the large displays.

"This isn't about the evidence, Athena." Winston replied brusquely. "The way he found us, that hovership that followed him to Gibraltar—there's something off about it all, I just _feel_ it."

"Well, while you worry over your feelings on the sergeant, our chances of verifying your theories concerning Project Deity grow exponentially less probable." Out of the corner of his eye, Ian saw Tracer tense at the mention of the secret project. She quickly crept up to his side, craning her neck to see as much of the hall as possible.

On-screen, Ian's files were abruptly replaced with an intricate web diagram, with arms sprawling outward in countless directions. Ian felt his pulse quicken as the web continued to grow; whatever this was, it was big.

Several icons jumped out at Ian immediately, like the logos of the Lumerico Corporation, Volskaya Industries, and even the symbol of the United Nations. Talon and Overwatch's chevron emblem orbited close to one another on the web as well, which Ian tucked away in the back of his mind for later. But no matter where his gaze landed, each new point led back to a single symbol set in the dead-center of the web; An intricately designed eye, staring out at the world with a tall, slit-shaped pupil.

"Is this Project Diety?" Tracer asked in an almost inaudible whisper. "I can't make any sense of it."

Ian nodded distractedly, his eyes and thoughts still glued to the sprawling diagram. Whatever this was involved several major corporations, governments, and Overwatch itself. This was the kind of intel General Reiker had sent Ian to find. He inched closer to the balcony's edge, too entranced by the conversation to worry about the danger of being caught.

"The robberies, the kidnappings, the surge in terrorist activity—someone is behind it all, Winston. It is imperative that we figure out who…and why." Winston let dead air hang between him and the AI before he finally let out a heavy sigh, sounding very tired.

"You're right, Athena, we have to—"

 _creeeaaakk._

Ian's last half-step towards the balcony's edge had fallen on a loose board, which groaned noisily in protest to his weight. Ian felt nauseating fear creep into his stomach as a tense, all-consuming silence blanketed the hall.

"What was that?" Winston's voice growled, shattering the momentary quiet.

" _Bullocks."_ Tracer swore again in a harsh whisper before blinking silently out of sight, presumably towards their exit.

Ian followed suit, backpedaling as quickly and quietly as he could towards the hallway they'd come from, his heart pounding in his ears. He'd almost made it to the archway when two large, hairy black hands shot up from below and curled themselves around the balcony's bannister.

Ian stopped dead in his tracks. If he ran now, Winston would undoubtedly hear him and know someone had been there. But if he stayed, Winston would see him in a matter of seconds once he pulled himself up onto the balcony. He desperately looked to Tracer behind him for any kind of help—only the find the archway empty. He had only the briefest of seconds to be confused before the sight of the hairy top of Winston's head breached the balcony's edge and plunged him into near-mindless panic.

But, just as Winston began to haul himself onto the balcony, a loud clattering noise came from the opposite end of the hall, sending its cacophonous sound reverberating off the stone walls. Winston's large head snapped towards the direction of the noise without ever looking in Ian's direction, and with frightening grace, the ape launched himself from the side of the balcony onto the nearest chandelier and swung off in in the opposite direction.

Before Ian could begin to process what just happened, there was a flash of blue light, followed immediately by a wild-eyed Tracer.

"C'mon!" She hissed, glancing over her shoulder. "That trick won't keep him distracted forever, we've got to go _now!_ "

"What do you mean trick?" Ian asked, hopelessly swept up in the flurry of events. "Where did you go?"

"I blinked over to the other balcony and knocked over some rubbish," Tracer said quickly. She grabbed Ian by his collar and started pushing him towards the stairway. "I'll explain later—move, Grey!"

Realizing this was not the best time to be asking questions, Ian broke into a run, ducking past the archway and scampering down the stairs as quickly as his legs could carry him.

They reached the entryway to the kitchens in a matter of seconds, pressing themselves close to the wall for cover. This time, Ian craned his head around the corner and peered into the kitchen. He felt fear and frustration roil anew in his stomach when he found Bastion still very much present, beeping distractedly as he placed rations onto an empty set of nearby shelves.

"Bastion's still here." He whispered back to Tracer. "Any chance you can give us another distraction?"

She looked down at her chronal accelerator and shook her head stiffly. "I used recall one too many times," she whispered back. "my accelerator needs time to cool down before I can do it again."

"Shit." Ian scanned the kitchen. If Tracer's blinking was off the table, they'd need another way to distract the omnic. Something big, something loud, something…

Ian's eyes drifted to the shotgun slung onto his shoulder.

 _Ultimate._

"Tracer, I'm gonna try something, but it's gonna make a lot of noise." He said as he swung his weapon into his hands. "When I give the signal, get ready to run."

Tracer's eyes darted between Ian and his weapon, her eyebrows knitted together in concern.

"You're not going to _shoot_ him, are you?" She asked tensely.

"Of course not!" Ian said defensively as he cycled through the cylinders on his gun. With a _click_ , he locked the setting marked with a "U" into place. "I'm…just gonna give him a little nudge."

 _I hope_. He finished in his mind.

Tracer looked like she might say more, But Ian turned his attention back towards the kitchen—there would be time for them to talk when there wasn't a 400-pound gorilla on their trail. Tucking the butt of his gun snugly into his shoulder, he lined up his shot, stared down the sights on his barrel, and squeezed the trigger.

A familiar silvery orb burst to life, sailing lazily into the kitchen. It passed the shelves of cookware, missing Bastion by a good five feet, but nonetheless had its intended effect. The omnic noticed the ball drift past, and his metallic head followed it with an all-consuming interest. As Ian had hoped, Bastion turned from his task and followed the ball away from their hiding spot, leaving their escape route open. Ian nodded emphatically towards the door on the other side of the room.

Tracer understood, and slunk out from behind their cover towards the exit. She opened the door silently, but couldn't stop the bright sunlight from flooding the dimly-lit room. Ian felt a pang of guilt as Bastion stopped and began to turn towards the abrupt new source of light.

 _Sorry about this, big guy._ Ian squeezed the trigger a second time, and the small, silvery ball imploded with its signature twinkling sound. All at once, the pots, pans, kitchen supplies, shelves, and Bastion himself flew towards the spot where the magnetic charge had been, colliding with each other in a deafening clatter. _Winston_ _definitely_ _heard that_. Ian thought as he sprinted across the room and plunged into the bright outdoors.

/

"What in the bloody hell was that?!" Tracer asked as the two of them raced back over the narrow bridge towards the ruined village.

"One of the modifications Torbjörn added to my gun." Ian replied between his labored breaths.

"That seemed like more than a little nudge." She said pointedly.

"I thought it would be weaker than that on the practice version," Ian admitted, feeling guilt creep up in him once more. "But I saw Bastion getting to his feet as we ran out. I'm sure he's okay," he added more for himself than for Tracer.

It was only when they'd run far enough into the surrounding village that the castle was no longer visible behind them that Tracer and Ian finally relaxed their breakneck pace. Ian put a hand onto the crumbling side of a nearby building for support as he greedily sucked in air. He was strangely comforted that Tracer seemed to be slightly winded as well.

"That was close." Ian said when he'd finally managed to catch his breath.

"No kidding," Tracer agreed, wiping a few errant beads of sweat from her forehead. "But at least we learned a thing or two about Project Diety." She smiled at Ian before adding, "Thanks for bringing me in."

"You saved my ass in there!" Ian said with a breathless laugh. "I should be the one thanking you." He realized then that his anger from before was gone—washed away entirely by the giddy euphoria that came with narrowly avoiding catastrophe. For her part, Tracer looked genuinely relieved that Ian's moodiness had disappeared.

"You can thank me with a drink later," she said playfully. "But for now, let's focus on finding that flag and finishing this exerci—"

 _ **BOOM!**_

Another cannon blast, this one considerably louder than the first, cracked through the air, and drained the jubilation from Ian like a spigot.

"It can't be," he said, disbelieving. "We were only gone for like fifteen minutes!"

Then, as if to mock him, Athena's voice boomed through loudspeakers back in the direction of the castle.

"Attention: The exercise is over—Red Team Wins!"

Beside him, Tracer stood staring blankly back towards the castle.

"Or not."

—

 _Whew! That's one long-overdue chapter for you! Apologies again for the delay—on the bright side, I'm already half-way done with the next Interlude, so hopefully we can break this bad streak of horrible turnaround._

 _I hope you enjoyed, and don't forget to drop a review and let me know what you think so far!_


	11. Interlude: Manhunt

_Hey all, welcome to the next interlude. Not much else to add in the way of updates, so enjoy! And don't forget to drop a review and let me know how you're liking the story!_

 **Interlude:** **Manhunt**

Sand blew and swirled about Jack Morrison like a swarm of tiny insects, hissing angrily as they collided with the stark and crumbling walls of the buildings surrounding him. If not for the mask that covered his face, he would have been forced to keep his eyes squeezed shut or risk being blinded by the stinging sandstorm.

He advanced slowly against the roaring wind, fighting against the gusts of sand and debris between sandstone houses in varying degrees of disrepair. The storm had driven the small, ragged population of the village indoors with their windows closed and shuttered to protect them from the elements—presenting Jack with the perfect opportunity to go and restock his supplies without being noticed. Under his arm and wrapped snuggly within his balled-up jacket were the few meagre provisions Jack had been able to scavenge from abandoned storefronts. Four bottles of warm water, a few strips of jerky, a handful of dates, and a plump, badly-bruised peach. He'd felt a small twinge in his gut stealing from the village shop owners who no doubt needed every cent their wares would bring them, but a little bit of guilt was better than starving.

Jack turned the corner onto another empty street and was buffeted by a strong gale of wind that nearly made him drop his bundle of hard-found rations. He was coming to the edge of the village, and with fewer buildings around, there was less and less standing between him and the elements. Fortunately, this part of his journey was short, and soon he stood outside the thick, sandblasted wooden door of a tall, derelict building that stood at the very edge of the town's border. Beyond it, nothing was visible but an endless wall of flying sand.

He used a well-muscled shoulder to lean into the door and he twisted its rusted knob, and it groaned defiantly as it scraped across the floor behind it. He quickly slipped inside and forced the stubborn door closed—a feat made several times more difficult by the storm trying to force its way in behind it. Finally though, Jack's persistence won out, and the door slammed shut with an resounding _thud._

The once deafening howl of the storm disappeared instantly, replaced with a muffled echo of its former fury. Inside, Jack thought, the sound was almost calming, like the sound of a thunderstorm back home. He placed his bundle gingerly onto the uneven stone floor and brushed a gloved hand through his short grey hair, feeling the grains of sand dislodge themselves and fall to the ground around him. His other hand felt around the side of his mask until it found a small round button. He pressed it, and with a faint _hiss_ , the pressurized mask came free, exposing his bare, scarred face to the world once again. Jack took a deep breath, exhaling it slowly, savoring the sensation of the free, musty air in his lungs.

He bent down and picked up his provisions again before announcing to the emptiness, "I'm back."

The first floor of the building was almost barren, containing little more than an old wooden table and two mismatched chairs, with not a soul in sight. But from the top of a narrow wooden stairway to his left, a voice echoed down to him.

"About time, I was beginning to think you'd finally been blown away in this unpleasantness."

Jack started up the stairs, each step creaking dangerously under his feet. "You'll need more than a sandstorm to get rid of me." He replied, stepping over a gap of missing wood in the stairway. He reached the top and emerged into a cozy room only slightly smaller than the one below him. Vague light wormed its way through the cracked boards that covered the room's only window, while in other places candles cast their fainter warm glow, pushing the darkness of the small space back into the corners. There was a hodge-podge furniture up here; a small cast iron stove sat in the corner farthest from him, while two mismatched armchairs stood a few feet away on either side of it. On the wall nearest the stairs, a pitiful looking couch with stained cushions sagged from its center. And there, lounging on its far end with a small book in-hand, sat a woman.

She was older, though underneath the wrinkles that creased the corners of her eyes and the smile lines on her cheeks, her high cheekbones and striking features told the story of a beautiful young woman who had gracefully accepted the passing decades. A tattoo under her left eye resembled the Eye of Horus, while her right eye lay hidden under an iron-plated eyepatch held in place by a worn piece of blue cloth. Her long, snow-white hair was weaved into a tight braid that hung off the side of the couch.

She looked up from her book and gave Jack a familiar smile. "You've still got some sand in your hair."

"Not for lack of trying." he groused. He ran both hands vigorously through his hair and saw grains of sand fly in every direction. The woman laughed.

"I remember when your hair was that color all the time—like sand on a sunny day." She gave a wistful sigh. "It feels like ages ago, doesn't it?"

"A lifetime, Ana." Jack said tiredly. "It feels like a lifetime."

In truth, only seven years had passed since 'that time,' but for Jack Morrison, a lifetime seemed less like hyperbole and more like a fitting beginning to his story. Seven years ago, an explosion had destroyed the headquarters of Overwatch in Switzerland—and Strike Commander Morrison along with it. The world held a funeral for him, buried an empty casket with his name carved into it, and immortalized his likeness with statues. Even those who Jack had been closest to thought he was dead.

And in a way, he was. The man who had dragged himself out of the wreckage that day had been someone different. The man who patched himself up in the smoking bones of his former home had no interest in returning to the spotlight that Jack Morrison had sweltered under for so long. This new man preferred a more furtive existence. He was someone who hungered for justice, quick and clean and uncompromising.

But perhaps more than anything, this new man had developed an insatiable appetite for illusive answers. Who had caused the explosion that day? Who was behind the global smear campaign that left Overwatch's sterling reputation in tatters? In the inevitable event they were connected, why had someone wanted Overwatch gone so badly?

And most importantly, _Where were they now_?

Jack placed his jacket on the small coffee table in front of the couch and untied the knots he'd made with its sleeves. Untangling the jacket slowly revealed the rations he'd managed to find that day, more or less untouched by the storm.

Ana picked up one of the dates, brushed off a few grains of sand, and bit into the sweet, shriveled fruit. "You know, I'm happy to go and search for supplies too." She said between bites. "I've got a mask that hides my face just as well as yours."

"You know we need you here." He responded, falling back into one of the armchairs. "How else will we know if they've made a move yet?"

Ana made a face and gestured to the window. "What kind of surveillance do you think I'm doing in the middle of a sandstorm, Jack? And if memory serves, you're more than capable of looking down a scope yourself."

She was right, of course. Jack and Ana had been tracking a cell of Talon all over the Middle East, until by a stroke of luck, they'd stumbled onto what seemed to be a local stronghold for the terrorist organization here in the Syrian desert. They'd taken up residence in an abandoned building on the outskirts of a nearby town and spent the last few days monitoring the comings and goings of the base, searching for an opening. But in a sandstorm like this, Jack knew that no one, not even Talon, would be going anywhere.

"Sandstorms can end in a matter of seconds—and Talon could be mobilized and gone a second after that." he replied brusquely. "And I might be able to 'look down a scope,' but I don't have the sharp eye you do." When he noticed the stare Ana was giving him, he quickly added, "But, understood—we should both have the opportunity to get out of this house every once in a while."

Ana nodded, satisfied. "That's a good boy." She tossed the pit of her date towards an empty corner and turned back to her book. At first, Jack thought she was still reading, but when he followed her gaze, he saw that Ana was instead looking at a small, worn photograph nestled snugly between the pages. From where he sat, he could just make out the image of a small girl with dark hair and the same almond skin and sharp face as Ana.

"You know," he began slowly. "Cairo's only 14 hours away. You could go and see her, if you wanted."

Ana tensed visibly before quickly closing her book with a sheepish grin. "Oh, no…that's…" she chuckled airily. "Thank you, Jack, but it's safer if my Fareeha knows as little as possible about what we're doing." She stared at the closed book, a small smile forming on her face. "For now, at least."

Deciding not the press the issue any further, Jack let the room lapse back into a comfortable silence. He glanced idly around their simple living space. It wasn't much, but outside of Ana's makeshift base of operations in Gaza's Necropolis, it had been their most consistent home for months.

Jack looked over at his side of the room—there was a small table that stood against the bannister of the stairs that held all his meagre possessions. His trusty pulse rifle he'd 'reclaimed' from a shut-down Overwatch facility, a single change of clothes, a combat knife, his razor, and…

He averted his gaze elsewhere before it came to the final object on the table. Ana must have noticed this, because she cleared her throat loudly.

"You know," She said, parroting his own words back at him, "They're only a comm call away," A foxlike smile spread over her face. "I even heard that _she_ might be there with them."

Jack stood so suddenly that Ana started in her seat. "The storm's calming down." He said in a flat tone. "Let's see what our Talon friends are doing."

Ana moved immediately, grabbing the sniper rifle that leaned against the wall behind her and heading for the window. She grabbed the bottom board that barred the window and pulled, easily prying it away. This was an exercise Ana and Jack had perfected over several dozen drills, so it was mere seconds before Ana had her rifle pointed out into the desert with its scope calibrated to the appropriate distance.

Jack peered out the small opening next to her, a stout grey building surrounded by chain-link fencing now visible several hundred yards away from the village.

"You were right," Ana said, adjusting her scope slightly. "Looks like they were waiting on the storm to move." Jack squinted, and could just make out the tiny black shapes of Humvees gathering at the perimeter gate. Beside him, Ana muttered to herself. "four…no, five. Six!" she looked up at Jack, her face bright and determined. "That's all the Humvees they have, Jack. There will be two, maybe three guards watching the whole place." Her visible eye burned with certainty. "This is the best chance we're going to get."

Jack was already putting on his mask, hoisting his rifle over his shoulder.

"Then it's time to go to work." He motioned towards Ana. "Where's our little gift for Talon?"

Ana reached back behind the couch and tossed him a small satchel, which he caught deftly in one hand.

"Be careful with that." She said in a sharp tone that reminded Jack of a mother scolding her child.

"Of course."

He strode towards the stairs, stopping only momentarily at the small table by the bannister to glance at a small, battered picture frame filled with familiar smiling faces—including a beautiful young woman with deep blue eyes and blonde hair. With one abrupt motion, he turned to frame face-down onto the table and left.

/

Jack ran from dune to dune across the barren desert between their hideout and the Talon base, his pulse rifle ready and in-hand. Normally, running the length of seven football fields across uneven hills of sand would be a grueling task for a man—but being a genetically enhanced super soldier had its benefits. It was only midway through football field number six that Jack began to feel a burning in his lungs.

"Jack, do you copy?" Ana's voice crackled through the built-in earpiece in his mask.

"I read you." He replied, his own voice echoing in the static. He peered out from behind the dune he was currently using for cover. "How am I looking?"

"I don't see any hostiles—you should be clear to the fence."

"Understood." Jack dashed out from his cover and made a beeline for the chain link barrier. He scowled under his mask; the fence looked taller here than it had from their hideout. Not slowing his pace, Jack waited until he was about five feet away from the fence and pushed off the ground with all his might. The unreliable ground here gave Jack less altitude than he would have liked, but he still had still managed a jump about six feet into the air (a relatively unimpressive feat for a super-soldier.)

Then, at the pinnacle of his jump, Jack pointed the barrel of his gun downward and squeezed the trigger.

Three helix rockets burst from their launcher under his sights and sped the short distance to the ground before exploding in a compact flash of blue. Jack felt the heat of their impact singe his pants and send searing pain rushing up his legs. He also felt himself propel upwards by about ten feet, sending him sailing just over the barbed-wire top of the fence. He fell into a roll on the other side, coming down hard on unforgiving asphalt.

He rose slowly, grimacing as the burns on his legs began to pain him in earnest.

"I hate rocket jumps." A moment later, he felt a dull prick as something bit into his arm with the force and speed of a paintball. He looked down to see a small yellow dart protruding from his arm just below his shoulder. "Jesus Ana," he growled, yanking the dart out and tossing it away. "A little warning would be nice."

Ana chuckled from her side of the comm. "You know shots hurt less if you don't see them coming. Besides, you'll thank me in a minute.

Jack hated to admit it, but even as she spoke, Ana's biotic dart was taking effect. He felt an odd tingling sensation as the burns on his legs began to evaporate, and even felt the ache in his shoulder and back from his landing dissipate almost entirely. He gave a brief moment to consider what Ana's necrotic darts, synthesized from an inverted composition of her healing formula, would feel like and felt himself shutter.

"So, what do you see? I'm assuming Gabriel isn't out there having a cocktail on a lawn chair."

Jack laughed as he scanned the area. "Unfortunately no—I could go for a cocktail right about now."

Ana sighed. "Well, if you find anything worth a damn in there, I'll buy you whatever drink you want."

Jack stalked further into the compound, his eyes trained to find any trace of movement. Aside from a few industrial light posts, the flat, paved area surrounding the building was entirely empty. The building itself wasn't any more exciting—a low, sturdy-looking concrete building with no windows and no signifying marks of any kind.

"Talon sure knows how to keep a low profile," he mused into his comm. "I'd think this place was abandoned if I hadn't just seen people leave."

"They probably work hard to keep it that way." Ana replied. "Do you at least see a way in?"

Jack didn't have to look long before he spied the large steel doors gleaming in the hot desert sun.

"Just found it, going to see if I can get it open." He made his way to the imposing steel slab in front of him, looking every bit as impenetrable as the rest of the fortress around it. That was, until he glanced down at the small control panel to his left. Jack smiled under his mask. "They've got a fingerprint scanner."

" _Khara_ Jack, you don't still have that thing with you, do you?" Ana said in audible revulsion. Jack's hand was already rifling around in a deep pocket in his pants.

"Judge me all you like, Ana, but it's been pretty damn useful lately." Finding his prize, he produced a small plastic bag, inside which was a severed human thumb.

A while back, after a firefight with Talon, Jack had the idea to…relieve one of Talon's fallen commanders of his digit, in the hopes that it would come in handy later. It had served him well on more than one occasion since then, and he hoped this time would be no different.

He opened the small bag and pulled the thumb out with a gloved hand. The heat and air hadn't been kind; making the appendage look a sallow greenish-color. Jack felt suddenly thankful for the oxygenated mask over his nose. He gripped the thumb gingerly between his fingers and pressed it firmly up against the scanner. After a few long seconds of deliberation, the console flashed green, with a bearded man's face appearing on it. Below the face, text appeared which read.

 _Access Granted: Agassi, Almir_

The once-impenetrable door slid open, and Jack smiled. "Thanks again for your cooperation, Al."

"You're disgusting." Ana's voice groaned in his ear.

Jack dropped the thumb back into its bag and stowed it again in his pocket. "I prefer 'eccentric'." He brought his pulse rifle back up to a ready position. "I'm going in."

"Rodger that. Be careful, Jack."

"Aren't I always?" There was a long pause.

"I… don't think you want me to answer that."

Jack laughed as he advanced into the gloom of the compound. "No, probably not."

/

The interior of the Talon base was cool and dark, a welcome change from the relentless heat outside. The entrance had opened to an empty, featureless cement hallway, which Jack moved down as quickly as possible. If there were any leftover Talon soldiers here, he didn't want to be caught in what was essentially a shooting gallery. Fortunately, he found himself alone when the hallway opened into a small lobby. Like the hallway, the room was sparse, with no windows, doors, or decorations of any kind. As far as Jack could tell, the only thing in the room at all was the simple metal desk that sat adjacent to the far wall.

Jack had expected as much—ever since their exposure in Venice all those years ago, Talon had taken great pains to make their presence as surreptitious as possible. He walked over to the desk and began his search. Each drawer he opened was completely empty, and the surface of the desk was barren. When he began to feel around the underside of the desk, however, his finger brushed against something that felt suspiciously like a switch. He smiled.

With a _click_ , the sweet sound of some mechanism lurching to life came from the wall behind him. A few seconds later, a previously nondescript section of concrete wall folded in on itself, revealing a dark, narrow passageway.

"Ana, I found my way in." Jack said as he examined the passage. "Any sign of Talon?"

"Not… y-t." Ana's voice crackled back through heavy static. "Y-r breaking…-p."

"Must be something in here interfering with outgoing transmissions." Jack agreed. "Just radio me if you see anyone coming."

"C—py."

Jack made his way into the passageway. Having penetrated the security of the front gate and the secrecy of the hidden entrance, Talon's base revealed itself in earnest. Blood-red banners depicting Talon's all-too-familiar "T" emblem hung importantly along the walls, and the low hum of unseen equipment and machinery filled the air. The single passageway soon branched into a network of hallways and small common areas, complete with menacing weapon racks to ensure easy, lethal access should a threat like him breach their defenses.

On a sudden impulse, Jack stopped momentarily at the nearest weapon rack and methodically disabled the triggering mechanisms on each gun. Should the worst happen, he'd rather leave half of the "outgunned and outmanned" idiom out of his predicament.

He continued to weave through the base, unsure of exactly what he was looking for until he turned a corner saw it; a large, imposing metal door at the end of the hall. Unlike the others he'd passed, this door stretched from floor to ceiling and had security cameras mounted on either side. At its center, Talon's emblem stood stark against the metal in its usual dark red.

Jack ignored the security cameras and strode towards the door. One of the several unforeseen perks of being a pronounced dead by the world was that no ever suspected you of anything, even when you showed up on security footage. He gave the door an exploratory push, only to have it slide open silently at his touch.

The room behind it was awash with a pale blue light emanating from an enormous computer screen that dominated the far wall. Large processors and technical equipment filled every available inch of the walls on either side of him, and a large vent in the center of the ceiling blasted ice-cold air, presumably to keep the hoard of electronics from overheating. Jack took a step into the room, his eyes only now drifting down to the bottom of the massive screen to find a young man sitting in front of a cramped desk, staring at him with eyes wide enough to be dinner plates.

There was a single, tense beat where both Jack and the man at the console stayed perfectly still, staring unblinking at each other. Then everything happened at once.

The man lurched out of his chair and dove for a walkie-talkie sitting just out of reach, while simultaneously groping for some unseen weapon at his hip. He moved quickly, but he was an ordinary man, and Jack was not. He was on the unprepared soldier before he'd taken his second clumsy step, startling him even further. The man opened his mouth to yell for help, or beg, or some other exercise in futility, but Jack's fist came thundering up under his chin, and the only noise that came from him was the sickening _crack_ of his jaw. Then, in one fluid motion, Jack took the man's head into the crook of his arm and twisted violently. There was a second _crack_ , and the man went rigid briefly before going lax and silent.

Jack let the body fall lifeless to the ground and approached the now-unoccupied console. The large screen primarily displayed a computer card game he'd never seen before—with orcs and wizards and the like littering a game board. Jack exited the game, only to reveal several security feeds from within the compound. He looked back at the dead man and shook his head.

"If you'd been doing your job, our places might have been switched, pal."

Turning his attention back to the monitor, Jack touched an unseen button on his visor, and a small recording symbol began to blink in the corner of his eye. He began to scour the computer for any and all information that might be useful—security footage, correspondences between other bases, weapon shipments, and so on. But even as troves of valuable information scrolled past, Jack let out a growl.

He still hadn't found anything on _him_ , yet.

While taking down Talon cells was all well and good, the true goal of Jack and Ana's endless trek around the world was centered on one objective: finding Gabriel Reyes. Reyes had been his second-in-command, his head of Blackwatch, and as strange as it was to think of now, his friend. He'd also been the man who organized the attempted coup that ended with death, destruction, and the downfall of Overwatch.

Like Jack, Reyes survived the attack—but at a terrible cost. Ana had told Jack as much after she saw whatever remained of his face a few months ago, when he'd barely managed to slip through their fingers. They'd both become something different, it seemed, but the something Jack's former friend had become wasn't one that he could allow to live.

Jack was about to declare their mission a bust when something caught his eye on an otherwise mundane financial document;

 _Outsourced Assets:_

 _European Outposts: Sigma, Echo, Chi: $20,000,000_

 _Middle Eastern Outposts: Bravo, Epsilon, Zed: $20,000,000_

 _Surveillance Nodes (Global): $15,000,000_

 _Asset Codename: Widowmaker: $50,000,000_

 _Asset Codename: Sombra: $50,000,000_

 _Asset Codename: Reaper: $60,000,000_

Jack's eyes lingered on the name "Reaper," knowing his former teammate's new moniker all too well. It looked like someone outside of Talon had paid handsomely for Reyes's deadly services—but who? He scrolled through the rest of the document hoping to find his answer, but found it maddeningly difficult. All written mention of Talon's benefactor had been either redacted or omitted entirely, leaving Jack with nothing to go on. Frustrated, he pushed away from the console and turned off his recorder.

"Ana, it looks like Reyes is freelancing for someone outside of Talon." Jack reported into his comm. "It looks like Amélie and Sombra are working with him too." He looked back towards the screen. "I don't like this."

Jack waited a moment for a response, but only static answered him. Some deep, old instinct in him told Jack that this was bad. He made his way quickly to the door, hoping to reestablish his connection.

"Ana, are you there?"

"J—k!" Even through the heavy interference, he could hear the urgency in her voice. "I've been trying…conta—you! Talon is…b—k! They're in…base."

"Hell—alright. Ana, pick off who you can, I'll be right out." Without another word, Jack reentered the computer room, unslung the small satchel Ana had given him from his back, and produced a device no bigger than a toaster. It was a chaotic collection of mismatched wiring and electrical tape, strapped to several hefty bars of C-4. On its front was a makeshift counter fashioned out of an old kitchen timer. It wasn't pretty, but Ana had assured him that it would be more than enough to bring the entire Talon base crashing down.

Tossing the satchel aside, Jack turned the timer's dial several times until it indicated ten minutes, then tucked it beneath the computer console. With that done, he turned his attention back towards his escape. He primed his pulse rifle and took off down the hall.

It didn't take long for Jack to run into his first unfortunate targets. He came upon three Talon agents completely unawares, and each of them fell dead to the hard metal floor before they could even reach for their weapons. The sound of his gunshots bounced down the corridors, and a moment later, alarms flashed red and whined noisily everywhere at once.

"Guess they know I'm here now." Jack mused as he reloaded his rifle and continued towards the exit. Just as well, at least that made things a little fairer. He retraced his steps through the labyrinth of halls, pausing at each corner to make sure he was clear. Twice he managed to stay hidden as squads of Talon soldiers ran past him deeper into their base. It wasn't until he peered around the corner into the first common room he'd passed through on his way in that he encountered his first real piece of resistance.

Five Talon soldiers occupied the space, each with their weapons trained in his direction. With the compound's only exit behind them, it was the natural choice for an ambush. What had caught Jack's eye in the room, however, had been the empty weapon rack hanging on the wall behind them. He gave a silent thank-you to his instincts before taking a bold step out into the doorway. He was entirely unprotected here, without cover or other means of defense. The casual entrance must have surprised his would-be ambushers, because there was a short, stunned pause before all five soldiers squeezed the triggers of their rifles. He smiled under his mask at the looks of confusion that sprouted on the faces of the Talon soldiers when their weapons did little more than make pitiful _clicking_ noises. A moment later, Jack was stepping over their bodies towards his freedom.

Entering the bland front lobby again felt strangely surreal after fighting in Talon's cramped corridors only moments before, like he had stepped out of one reality and into another. Jack allowed himself a second's respite before he used the hidden switch beneath the desk to close the entryway behind him. He took his pulse rifle and fired a volley of helix rockets at the hinges as the false wall slid back into place. Jack heard the satisfying sound of rent metal screeching against its own destroyed mechanism and watched as the heavy cement slabs stuttered and collapsed, effectively sealing the passageway. Now at least no rogue Talon agents would be able to sneak up on him. He started towards the exit and tried his comm again.

"Ana, I'm at the exit. How is it outside?"

"Jack!" Ana's voice came through without any of the interference from before. "Thank god. I got worried when I saw half the caravan run inside with their guns out."

"Outside, Ana?"

"Right—I picked off a few before the rest ran to cover. I'd guess you have about ten soldiers left to deal with unless you can get them out into the open."

Jack laughed darkly. "Perfect." He broke into a light jog as he made his way down the stark cement corridor that led outside. As he came to the steel doors leading back outside, he pressed himself flat against the wall. He took a deep breath, then used the small control panel next to him to open the door.

As soon as the doors slid open, bullets ricocheted angrily off of the wall and screamed past him down the hall. Evidently, they'd been expecting him. After a deafening few seconds, the onslaught stopped abruptly. From outside, a gruff, thickly accented voice called out.

"You! Intruder! Are you still alive in there?"

Despite his predicament, Jack smiled at the absurdity of the question. "Unfortunately for you, I am." He called back, making sure he stayed safely behind cover.

The man laughed humorlessly. "Unfortunate, indeed. Though not for me, I think." There was a pause.

"What is your name, infidel?"

"Nothing that concerns you." Jack called back acridly. "You won't be around long enough for it to matter, anyway." Several voices from outside laughed. Jack took a mental note of where each voice came from.

"Such poor manners." The original voice rumbled. "But your threats are hollow. You're outnumbered, and there is nowhere for you to go." When Jack stayed quiet, the voice went on. "Allow me to make you a deal; come out now, and we shall kill you quickly." A dangerous edge came into his tone. "Or stay in there and fight, and we will kill you slowly. Then we will find your sniper-friend and kill them slowly as well."

"Good luck with that." Jack called back dismissively.

"Very well," The voice called out, and there was the sound of guns being loaded. "It's over, then."

Jack heard movement outside, and knew that the time for talk had ended. "You're right," he said quietly. He pressed a button on his visor, and his visual display expanded ready to target any living thing in his line of sight. "It is."

He leapt out from his cover, squeezing the trigger of his rifle down hard. A lethal stream of bullets fired out into the dry desert air and found their targets with grim accuracy. The first man Jack targeted didn't even have time to look surprised as three bullets passed through his skull between his eyes. The man beside the first managed to look confused and terrified before he was flung backwards by the force of the bullets that ripped through his chest.

Bullets began to fly past Jack's head as he continued to move. His sights fell to a man more armored than the rest. By the looks of the small entourage of soldiers around him, Jack guessed this was the cell's leader. He targeted the men surrounding the important-looking soldier and in the course of a breath, brought half of them down.

The leader stumbled backwards, frantically barking orders at his remaining men. Jack raised his rifle again, preparing to fire at the second half of soldiers, then heard a sudden and deafening explosion from behind him. A searing pain spread across his back, and something hard collided with the base of Jack's skull. He had just enough time to register the looks of shock on the Talon soldiers' faces before the world fell black around him.

/

" _Jack. Jack, wake up."_ a soft voice echoed through Jack's burgeoning consciousness, pulling him up through the blackness and back to the world. Slowly, the voice became clearer, and he became aware that he was laying down. His vision returned, and a blurred woman's face appeared above him, the color of sunlight in her hair.

"Angela?" Jack's question came out as a croak that sounded strange in his ears. The face leaned in, and its ambiguous features coalesced into the familiar age-lined face of Ana Amari. She gave him a look that seemed to hover somewhere between relief and pity.

"I'm afraid not, old friend."

His wits came back quickly after that, and the world filled in around Ana. They were no longer outside Talon's base, but were instead surrounded by jagged brown dome of sandstone. The sunlight-colored hair Jack thought he'd seen had been exactly that—light from the fading afternoon sun that flooded through an opening behind Ana and played off her white hair.

Ana must have seen his improvement, because she smiled gently at him. "You know, they say it's smart to get clear of buildings before you try and blow them up."

Jack tried to laugh, but it quickly devolved into a fit of coughs that wracked his torso with pain. Ana reached into a pocket of her long coat and produced a tube of biotic gel. It was only when she began to apply a generous amount to his midsection that he noticed he was shirtless.

She made a _tsk_ noise as she rubbed in the gel, which started to glow a bright yellow. "I think you might have broken a rib or two, Jack." Ana admonished. "This will help, but we're going to need to take it easy for a few days."

"Where are we?" He asked, hoping to distract Ana away from a lecture about safety. To his relief, it seemed to work.

"A cave. Not too far from where Talon's base used to be." Ana said without looking up from her work. "The villagers were crowding at the border to see what caused the explosion, so I ran down to the wreck and carried you in the other direction." She glanced at Jack to give him a pointed look. "You're heavy."

"Did any of Talon's people get away?" Jack asked, ignoring her jab at him.

"A few stragglers tried to make a run for the mountains after the explosion," she patted the rifle that lay at her side. "They didn't get very far."

Jack nodded, that was good at least. The less intel Talon had on who was destroying their assets, the better. He felt a pleasant warmth spread across his midsection as the gel began to take effect. He let Ana work in silence for a moment before he spoke up again. "Gabriel's working for someone outside of Talon— Amélie and Sombra too."

Ana's methodical application of biotic gel stopped abruptly, her mouth turning into a tight line. "That…isn't good." She said with a tense edge to her voice.

Jack shook his head. "No, it's not."

"Do we know who?"

Jack removed his visor and placed it on the ground beside him. He pressed a few buttons on its side, and the recording he'd taken of the Talon computer console projected itself onto the cave wall in a flash of red light. "I checked, but it looks like all mention of this mystery employer was scrubbed from the report." He growled as he re-watched the footage. "Which makes this whole operation about as useful as a stick in the eye."

"Wait," Ana cut in, her good eye squinting at the projected video. "What was that?"

Jack looked at her, quirking an eyebrow. "What was what?"

Ana let out an exasperated sigh and leaned over Jack to fiddle with a dial on the side of his visor. The video rewound itself to a few seconds prior until Ana paused it on a frame of the bottom of the document. She pointed towards the projection. " _That."_

Jack followed her finger to a line of logos tucked beneath two black bars of redacted signatures. Talon's sinister 'T' stood out to him at first, printed largest on the document, but soon his gaze drifted to the left onto a smaller logo he hadn't noticed before.

It looked like an eye, lidless, with a slitted pupil surrounded by two irises. There was no name, no lettering, no hint to its meaning—but something about it made Jack feel uneasy. And that was not an easy thing to do.

"Have you ever seen a symbol like that before?" Jack asked, not really expecting an answer. So he was surprised when Ana nodded, her expression grave.

"I have. But it's _where_ I've seen it that concerns me." Before Jack could ask, Ana reached into her coat pocket and produced the small book she'd been reading earlier that day. She began to thumb through the pages until she found what she'd been searching for. She turned the book towards Jack so he could clearly see the symbol nearly identical to the one in Talon's documents. Ana stared at him intently, her eye hard like a piece of flint. "This is a book all about the _Shambali_ , Jack."

Jack stared at the page for a long time before he picked up his visor and, with some difficulty, struggled to his feet. He made his way slowly to the mouth of the cave and looked out at the surrounding desert. "Ana," he said without turning to face her, "Rest is going to have to wait. We have to get back to Gaza."

"Care to enlighten me as to why?" Ana asked incredulously. Jack knew she'd always hated feeling like she was a step behind.

Jack turned to face her as he replaced his mask, once again hiding his face. "Because we'll need to prepare. Because we need to figure out why one of the largest Omnic orders in the world is showing up in Talon's databases."

He bent down to pick up his shirt and jacket along with his pulse rifle. "Because I need to know if we're dealing with a rogue group of fanatics, or if we're staring down the barrel of a second Omnic Crisis."

—

 _And so things start heating up on the other side of the world! I know it seems like characters are getting introduced somewhat slowly, but that's deliberate, I promise. I want to make sure every character gets the time and detail they're due, so that when they come together…soonish…it will be all the more meaningful._

 _Anyway, thanks again for reading, and I'll see you all next chapter!_


End file.
